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THE PoET 
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and the 

Fy^RIES 








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COPYRIGHT DEPOl 






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THE POET, THE FOOL 

AND 

THE FAERIES 



BOOKS BY MR. CAWEIN 

COMPLETE POEMS, in five volumes. 
Illustrated by Eric Pape. $15.00 net 

THE GIANT AND THE STAR (Child 

Rhymes) %i. 00 net 

SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 

BOSTON, MASS. 



Miss Jessie B. Rittenhouse says in the New York Times : 

" Following his own star, Mr. Cawein has created a type of nature poetry 
wholly distinct in that, to an observation so minute and delicate that it 
might serve as the equipment of a naturalist, he has united a fancy so rich 
and versatile that one finds the fact transforming under his eyes to a strange 
beauty and yet losing none of its reality. Indeed it is the sense of reality in 
Mr. Cawein's work, the minuteness with which he records what might escape 
a less devoted observer, that constitutes the supreme charm of his work. 
That Wordsworth should have celebrated the ' Small Celandine ' was in its 
day an epoch in nature observation, but one might explore the Kentucky 
woods and' fields with a volume of Cawein's poems as a handbook and 
identify many as lowly and exquisite a flower first recognized in song. 

" With something of Thoreau's mood Mr. Cawein finds in Kentucky mead 
and coppice the outer world in microcosm and does not wander far afield in 
quest of other expressions of a beauty he has not yet exhausted. Year by 
year the passing pageant, bringing some new wonder, finds him still intent, 
with no day barren of its revelation or devoid of its joy. 

" This last is perhaps the quality which enforces itself most strongly upon 
Mr. Cawein's readers, that no sense of disillusion ever creeps into his work 
when nature is his theme, though not absent from it now and then when man 
obtrudes in the picture. 

" Mr. Cawein is primarOy a painter, a painter like Manet, who delighted 
to depict in different atmospheres the same subject, revealing the beauty of 
its transformations. Always the veritable color and aroma, the palpable 
sense of the open is transferred to his pages, so that one feels the direct im- 
pulse which inspired them." . . . 



THE POET, THE FOOL 

AND 

THE FAERIES 



BY 
MADISON CAWEIN 




BOSTON 
SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



"7/ 



f 6 1277 



Copyright, 1912 
By Madison Cawein 



THE UNIVEKSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE. U.S.A. 



©C!,A328453'' 



TO 

ALICE MONEOE PAPE 

GIFTED AND BEAUTIFUL 
SHE DIED YOUNG 

The leaves are fading ; and on sea and shore 
An autumn sadness falls : the world grows wan ; 
And through the dusk the wind sweeps wearily on. 
Sighing for Summer days that are no more. 
We three, who once were four, — ah, happy four ! — 
Our narrow circle round the hearth have drawn, 
A ring, from which the queenliest gem is gone, 
Whose empty setting nothing will restore. 
Oh, unbelievable ! that never again 
Shall that bright presence fill the house with light ! 
Like a fair taper, burning silver clear : 
Whose fire is ashes now, — but not in vain. 
Since here it shone for us, and through the night 
Would guide us, shining, to some higher sphere. 

Manchester-by-the-Sea, Mass. 
September, 1911 



Acknowledgment for permission to reprint 
certain of the shorter poems included in this 
volume is herewith made to The Century Co., 
Charles Scribner's Sons, Harper and Brothers, 
The Atlantic Monthly Co., The Forum, The 
Delineator, The Crowell Publishing Co., Ess, 
Ess Publishing Co., J. B. Lippincott Co., The 
Outlook, Collier's Weekly, Ainslee's Magazine, 
The Bookman, and the John Adams Thayer 
Corporation. 



CONTENTS 

THE COMMON EARTH 

Page 

The Poet, the Fool, and the Faeries ... 3 

The Dryads 57 

The Common Earth 78 

A Faery Burial 85 

Two Faeries and a Flower 90 

Wood and Waters 95 

I On A Headland 95 

II The Forest 95 

III The Mill-Stream 96 

IV The Old Saw-Mill 97 

V Swamp-Led 97 

VI The Swamp 98 

VII The Place op Pools 98 

VIII Vespertine 99 

IX Flower Pageant 100 

X The Wind from the Sea 100 

XI Sea Lure 101 

XII Ocean Mists 102 

XIII A Forest Place 102 

A Path to the Woods 104 



X CONTENTS 

Page 

The Dreams op Summer 107 

Harvesting 110 

Sabbath 112 

Deserted 114 

The Wood Stream 115 

Worm and Fly 117 

The Old Bayou 119 

Butterflies 121 

Dragonflies 123 

A Wildflower 125 

The Ghost Flower 127 

Autumn Storm 129 

"I Hear the Woodlands Calling" .... 130 

Dolorous Night 132 

The Call of the Heart 134 

Oldtown 136 

The Old Place 138 

The Path to Yesterday 140 

Age 142 

Drouth 144 

Beside the Road 145 

The Hail Storm 146 

Chaos and Order 147 

The Gray Land 148 

Silk o' the Weed 149 

The Ploughman 150 

Dusk and the Whippoorwills 151 

The Tempest 152 



CONTENTS XI 

Page 

Two Birds 154 

In the Deep Forest 155 

Pursuit 156 

After Death 158 

Light 160 

The Mother 161 

Old "Bud" Riley 163 

They Say 165 

CHARACTER AND EPISODE 

Firearms 169 

A Crying in the Night 185 

The Woman on the Road 195 

Robber Gold 203 

The Battlefield 207 

The House of Night 213 

The House of Pride 216 

Guilt 219 

The Old Love 221 

In Lilac Time 223 

The Return 225 

The Gray Garden 228 

When the Years were Young 230 

The Hill Road 233 

Rose and Jasmine 236 

The Close of Day 238 

Feudists 240 

The Mound Men 243 



Xii CONTENTS 

Page 

The Spanish Main 247 

The Bueden of the Buried Dead 249 

Reflections 250 

"Oh, When I Heard" 252 

On the Death op T. B. A 252 

Modern Poetry 253 

The Secret Room 253 

The Watcher on the Tower 254 

Pandora 257 

Attainment 258 



THE COMMON EARTH 



THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE 
FAERIES 

A Lyrical Eclogue 

Scene: A woodland among hills. 
Time: The Present. 

Poet 

Well! well! as I 'm a poet, here 's a fool! 
What does he here ? 

Fool 

What, sir, hut keep him cool. 
And pass the time of day with such as you. 

Poet 

Why, that's my fool now! One that Shake- 
speare knew ! — 
Are we in Arden, then? 

Fool 

That 's telling tales. 

Poet 

Aye ! it is Arden. 



4 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Fool 

So we 're far as that ! — 
Show me now where Audrey and Touchstone 
sat. 

Poet 

Take it from me, upon this mossy mat; 

— There ! I 'II swear it by your bauble's bat. 

Or — my last poem. 

Fool 

Ah ! then Poetry ails. 
Since you will swear, by her, to what is lies? 

Poet 

Not only does she ail, good Fool, but dies; 
Such is the verdict of the worldly wise. — 
But when I saw her last she looked not ill; 
There was a happy light in her clear eyes. — 
That she was dying is impossible. 

Fool 

But nothing is impossible. — You 're here ! 
A poet in these woods! — Your poet, — well — 
Keeps to the town lohere there is atmosphere. 

Poet 

Then diagnose me ivhat a poet is. 
Or should be. Fool. 



THE COMMON EARTH 

Fool 

Now, hy the cap I wear! 
Since Kings command, here 's my analysis — 
No poet he of mart or thoroughfare. 

He measures facts by a gleam o' the moon, 

And calendars days by dreams ; 

He values less than a wild bird's tune 

The world of mortal schemes: 

He dons the pack of the Work-and-Wait, 

On the trail of the !N"ever-Sure, 

And whistles a song as he faces Fate 

To follow the far-ofP lure. 

He says a word to the butterfly, 

And its mottled dream is his ; 

He whispers the bee, and it makes reply 

With a thought like a honeyed kiss : 

He speaks the bird, and he speaks the snake, 

And the ant in its house of sand, 

And their guarded wisdom is his to take, 

And their secrets to understand. 

He shares his soul with the wayside rose, 

His heart with the woodland weed, 

And he knows the two as himself he knows. 

And the thoughts with which they plead : 

To him they speak in confidence. 

And he answers them with love, 

And hand in hand with their innocence 

Strikes out for the trail above. 



6 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Sworn comrade he of the rocks and trees, 

Companion boon of the brooks; 

Through whose hoary tribes he hears and sees 

The things that are not in books : 

He goes his way of do and dare, 

Led on by firefly gleams, 

And lays him down with never a care 

By the campfire of his dreams. 

Poet 

That 's what I call a goodly bit of news. 

How comes it that a fool such things can feel. 

And say them too? — 'T is strange. 

Fool 

'T was hut a ruse 
To get you into argument. 

Poet 

I see. 
But I, good Fool, with all you said agree. 
Your knowledge now of what a hard should he 
Makes to my heart a very strong appeal. 
Where did you learn this thing f 

Fool 

In Arcady. 
I have a fair acquaintance with the Muse. 

Poet 

Indeed? 



THE COMMON EARTH 7 

Fool 

You see I only need to choose 
Of all these things that lie right at my hand, — 
That anyone with sense may understand, — 
Select my meter and arrange my rhyme. 
And there you are ! — my discourse moves to 
time. 

Poet 

Behold the fool turned poet! Come, sir, come! 
Song must he heard. Too long has she been 

dumb. 
All genius is half fool. — What say you now 
To a good bout at rhyming? 

Fool 

Steel to steel. 
With " Ho " and " Ha " and " Curse you any- 
how"?— 
Why I 'm your onion! cut or thrust or play — 
'T is easier, sir, than running down at heel. 
I 'II foin you — ivell, an hour or a day 
And never falter foot. 

Poet 

Have at you ! — Pray, 
But have a care, my gentle Fool ! You know, 
Apollo once brought Marsyas to woe. 

Fool 
But you are not Apollo. 



8 the poet, the fool, and the faeries 

Poet 

Even so. 
And well for you, my Fool: that saves your 

shin. 

Fool 
I 'm willing to he flayed; so let 's begin. 

All around, 

In tlie forest, is enchanted ground : — 

Where the sunlight throws 

Airy-minted gold 

To the lily and rose, 

Stretching flowers, like hands, to seize and hold : 

AVhere the brooks unfold 

Scrolls of music, crystal melody. 

For the hills to hear. 

Leaning low an ear. 

Many a leafy ear. 

Emerald-veined, on many a listening tree ; 

Where the winds work at their necromance, 

Rustling-robed, with hands that glint and 

glance. 
Weaving, dim a-trance. 
Lights and shadows into tapestry. 
Glimmering with many a wildflower dance : — 
Quaker-Ladies in a saraband. 
Twinkling hand in hand; 
And, demurely met, 
Orchids in a stately minuet. 
Flirting eyelids at the amorous bee. 



THE COMMON EARTH 9 

Bird and bee, in Ijric ecstasy : — 

There, where none may hear, 

Magic, Mystery, 

Parents of Romance, 

Ever near, 

Work dim wonders with the rain and sim, 

Mist and dew: 

There the two 

Plot enchantments, old yet always new — 

l^ever hurried ; never done 

Dreaming, weaving. 

All perceiving. 

Dreams man's soul is heir unto : 

Waving, beckoning him to follow 

Down the world, through holt and hollow ; 

Bidding see with the spirit's eyes, 

Heed and hear with the soul's deep heart. 

Till the Mind, by the two made wise, 

Come to a shadowy world apart. 

And, hand in hand with its ecstasies, 

Enter the gateway of Surprise, 

And find its dreams realities. 

Poet 

Well rhymed, my Fool. If all men had your 

sense 
The world would he the wiser. 

EooL 

That 's recompense. 
Clonics might scorn it; magazines reject. 
Howheit, Poet, thanks for your respect. 



10 the poet, the fool, and the faeries 

Poet 

You 've made me somewhat thoughtful with 

your theme; 
And since 't is Spring I cannot help hut dream. 

Where the orchid's faery flowers 
Lamp the forest ways with pearl, 
And the sibyl woodland hours 
Gossip with the thrush and merl: 
Where the hill-born waters run, 
Bluebell-aproned in the sun, 
Each one madcap as a girl 
Dancing with wild hair awhirl: 

Where the bluet blossoms wink, 
Constellating heavens of moss ; 
And around the wood pool's brink 
Iris flowers their bonnets toss : 
Where the bird's-foot violet 
And the windflower thickly set 
Magic snares for hearts that cross, 
Wildwood- wandered, at a loss : 

There the rough bee, busily, 
In the haw tree's house of bloom, 
Plies his honeyed industry, 
Weaving murmur and perfume. 
Spinning cirques of sorcerous sound. 
Where old Time is drowsy-bound, 
Like to Merlin, fallen on doom, 
Captive in a gleaming gloom. 



THE COMMON EARTH IX 

Wlieresoe'er the feet may stray 
Earth with mystery is tense; 
Every tree tnmk hides a fay, 
Every fern is pixy dense: 
Elfland lays an ambuscade 
In each wonder-guarded glade, 
Taking prisoner the sense 
With compelling indolence. 

Till the spirit vision clears, 
And before the eyes, behold ! 
Beauty's very self appears. 
As the Greeks believed of old : 
In the rapture of her gaze 
Glows the joy of other days ; 
In her tresses all the gold 
Of the faery tales long told. 

Still she keeps her body fair 
Eor the soul that knows not art ; 
Innocent and free of care 
Low she whispers to the heart, 
As in childhood, when you knew, 
And in dreams she came to you. 
In a place remote, apart, 
Elf dom, that is on no chart. 

Still within her bower she waits 
For the moment, long removed; 
Till, delivered of the Fates, 
Wakes again the soul that loved: 



12 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And to it shall be revealed 

Secrets that she kept concealed ; 

And the dream, which long behooved, — 

Eeal as earth, — again be proved. 

Fool 

You 're not so far wrong as it may appear 
^Mlen 't comes to faeries. — Hark now! in your 

ear: 
I have a secret I have longed to tell 
To some good friend; and it concerns this dell. 

Where the path leads through this dell 
All the way is under spell: 
There, beneath the old oak tree. 
Where the light lies dim at noon, 
Elfland held its revelry. 
Danced and left its yellow shoon : — 
You may call them, if you choose, 
Whippoorwill-shoes. 

There between a stalk and stem. 
Where the crowfoot hangs its gem, 
Golden in the fern's green hair. 
Swings a hammock, dips a bed, 
Faeryland has woven there 
Out of mist and moonbeam thread : — 
Never web was spider spun 
Like this one. 



THE COMMON EARTH 13 

Yonder fiingiis, pink and bro^vn, 
Which the slim, snail silvers down 
Cautiously, as if afraid 
Of intrusive visitors, 
Is a table ouphens laid 
For their feast beneath the stars : — 
l^ever mushroom, you may wis, 
Was like this. 

To this tree now lay your ear : 
In its heart you too may hear 
Whispered wonders, as have I: 
How, in frog-skin pantaloon. 
Moth-wing gown and butterfly, 
Pixies tripped here by the moon : — 
l!^ever breeze, or sap, I know, 
Murmurs so. 

!N^ow and then, whence none can tell. 
Sudden fragrance sweeps the dell. 
And your eyelids flutter to : — 
'T is some glamour, elfin-wise. 
Passing very near to you, 
Putting glimmer in your eyes : — 
l^ever wild-rose scent, or sun. 
So could run. 

Thus it is I look around 
WTien I tread this faery ground : — 
There is witchcraft in the place ; 
There is magic; there is spell; 



14 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

You can feel it like a face, 
Gazing, yet invisible: 
I have felt it ; you may feel : — 
None reveal. 

Poet 

/ prize your revelation, and believe. 

Without a reservation, all you say. 

Now, mark you; yonder — do your eyes per- 
ceive. 

Among the leaves and flowers, what 's a-play ? 

What fancies, — faeries ? — call them by that 
name — 

The two that always must remain the same. 

Like Rapunzel within her tower, 
Divinely pale, in sweet distress, 
The Mayapple, of fragile flower. 
Gives glimpses of its loveliness: 
And there, like her the witch detained, 
And walled with sleep and many a briar. 
The wild rose glimmers, rosy veined, 
As if its blushes it restrained, 
Soft-dreaming of its heart's desire. 

All is at peace: the woods around 
Stand silent as authorities 
In contemplation. Not a sound 
Disturbs their dream of centuries. 
Out of their long experience 



THE COMMON EARTH 15 

In green and gold they tell their thought; 
And to the soul's divining sense 
Deliver all the evidence 
Of that for which man's mind has sought. 



Retired as happiness that holds 
The memory of a grief that 's gone, 
The humid orchis here unfolds 
Its pearl and purple to the dawn. 
Around, the bluets, near and far, 
Prompt as the skies they imitate, 
In multitudes that know no bar. 
Reveal their beauty, star on star, 
And nothing of their joy abate. 

How one frail flower like this can make 
Immortal to the memory 
A place, a moment, with the ache 
Of something more than eyes can see ! 
And how the soul will cling to it, — 
And in its thought immortalize 
The happiness whereon it hit 
In that one moment exquisite 
When Beauty took it by surprise. 

Fool 

Now I 'II he open with you. Poet. — See, 
Now you 're my friend since you believe like 
me. 



16 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Why, I have seen things — faeries! Yes, right 

here I 
I 'II tell you of them. Listen. Lend your ear. 

I sat with woodland dreams one night, 
Before the moon rose round and white, 
And saw the moth-like minions dim, 
WTio guard the wild rose when asleep, 
Come forth: The spirits, small and slim 
(Gold-Pollen, Prickle, Rain-Bright, Trim), 
Who hang around each wildflower's rim 
Its carcanet of dew, and keep 
Its fair face clean of things that creep. 

I saw them, busily as ants. 
Hang with pale gold the woodland plants : 
On bindweed tendrils, one by one, 
I saw them loop long rows of bells, 
That swung in crystal unison; 
Then up the silken primrose run 
(Moth-Feather, Tripsy, Light-Foot, Fun), 
And to the stars unclasp its shells. 
That filled with sweetness all the dells. 

I saw the shapes that house in trees. 
That guard the nests of birds and bees: 
Like sudden starlight gleamed their hands 
And leaf-like bodies, glimmering green, 
When through the woods they moved in bands 
(Wisp, Foxfire, Burr, Jock-o'-the-Brands), 
And dotted night with firefly wands ; 



THE COMMON EARTH 17 

Peering with pin-point eyes between 
The fernleaves for some harm unseen. 



I saw the fancies wild, for whom 

The crickets violin the gloom, 

Lead in a pageant long of dreams ; 

To see which even the sleepy snail 

Thrust out its horns ; and from the streams 

(Spraytop- and Ripple-chased it seems). 

The trout leapt silvery, showering gleams 

Of beryl 'thwart the pearly pale 

Low moon that raised her faery sail. 

And with the moon came presences 
Of gnome-like things that toil mid trees; 
That build the ghost-flower in a night; 
And set their grotesque shoulders to 
The toadstool's root and heave it white 
(Troll, Nixen, Kobold, Glowwormlight), 
Into the star dusk ; and pull tight 
The webs that frost themselves with dew 
Adown each woodland avenue. 

I saw them rouse the moth and ride 
The spider forth ; and rein and guide 
The grumbling beetle on its way ; 
And prick the slow slug so it 'd see 
The fungus ruff of red and gray 
(Lob, Fly-by-ISTight, and Lanthornray), 
WTiere it could gorge itself all day; 



18 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The agaric, which, tirelessly, 

Thej 'd wrung from out the old dead tree. 



These things I saw: Then shapes of musk 
In herby raiment swarmed the dusk; 
They rose from moss and rotted wood. 
From loam and leaf and weed and flower: 
Midge-winged they swept the solitude 
(Rosehip and Fernseed, Lily-Snood), 
A vague, ephemeral sisterhood, 
That stole the sweetness from each bower, 
To give it back within the hour. 

Then slighter forms of film and foam 
Rose from the streams and sat, a comb 
Of moon-pearl in their hands : the fays, 
Who herd the minnows; keep from harm 
The dragonfly that sleeps or sways 
(Foam-Flutter, Starstep, Ripple-Rays), 
Like some bright jewel, on the Day's 
White breast, when, starred, a golden charm, 
The water-lily opens warm. 

And then I saw them cloud the air, — 
Elf shapes, that came with flying hair. 
Winding their gnat-like bugles : sprites. 
That help the spider when it weaves 
Its web ; or, lamped with glowworm lights 
(Prank, Heavyhead, Bob-up-o'-Nights), 
Guide bats and owlets in their flights. 



THE COMMON EARTH 19 

Or toads to where the mushroom heaves 
Its rosy round through loam and leaves. 

These are the dreams I sat with when 
The owlet hooted in the glen; 
These are the dreams that came before 
My eyelids in this forest gray — 
Children of Fancy, Faery Lore, — 
Puck, Ariel, and many more, — 
Wearing the face that erst they wore 
For Shakespeare ; and, in some strange way, 
As real now as in his day. 

Poet 

Siince you have spoken. Sir, I 'II tell you what 
Occurred to me upon this selfsame spot. 
When soul-sick of the world I sought this wood. 
Knowing my heartache would be understood. 

I took the old wood at its word, 

And flung me on its lap of moss ; 

Its shimmering arms above me stirred, 

And green its bosom heaved across. 

I felt its cool breath on my cheek, 

As low it leaned to see my face. 

Whispering, " What is it, son, you seek ? 

What is it that you would replace ? 

What have you lost ? what would you find ? — 

Is it your heart ? or peace of mind ? " 



20 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

I heard its question, not with ears, 
But with an inward sense of grief: 
Words would not come, but only tears, 
Slow tears, that brought me no relief. 
Again the whisper : "Is it love ? 
Or aspirations you have prized? 
Or loss of faith in God above ? 
Or some far dream unrealized ? " — 
" I know not how," my soul replied, 
" But Poetry, meseems, has died." 

Then for a space the wood was still. — 

A teardrop fell ; — or was it rain 

I felt upon my face; the chill 

Glad tears of Nature ? — Then again, 

Was it her joy ? — or just the storm 

She gathered to her breast awhile ? 

Then, quickly, was it sunlight warm? 

Or on her face a quiet smile? 

As low I heard her answer thrill — 

" Here in my arms Song slumbers still." 

And, oh, I wakened as from dreams. 
And saw her there, — Song, dim as moss : 
And heard her voice, which is the streams, 
Rill from her pure throat leaned across: 
And all around me, flower on flower, 
I saw her wild thoughts gleam and glow ; 
And through them, by some subtle power, 
Beheld my soul's dreams come and go. 



THE COMMON EARTH 21 

Long mourned as dead, no more to part, 
I took her sobbing to my heart. 

Fool 

Why, you are Nature's favored son, I see. 
But hark you now: She too has let me know 
Soul-intimacy : Once with eyes of glee 
She made the Wind's self visible to me — 
The elfin Wind I — You were not favored so. 

I saw her there among the leaves, 

A slender spirit none perceives, 

The Wind, who still her magic weaves, 

Romancing : 

I heard her feet, as soft as thieves'; 

And then the silken swish of sleeves, 

Steal 'round the forest's fluttered eaves, 

A-dancing. 

She leaned and whispered in the ear 
Of every wildflower something dear, — 
How to protect their hearts from fear 
Of dying: 

Then took the thistle's feathery sphere 
And glimmered it across the mere. 
Or on a cobweb, trailing near, 
Went flying. 

The butterfly, that comes and goes. 
She tosses on the wilding rose; 
Then teases 



22 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The blossomed bee that whines ; and blows 
Into each bud till wide it grows ; 
When swift its musk that overflows 
She seizes. 



Then fine and fair away she trips, 
Wood perfume on her wildwood lips, 
To where, with twinkling fingertips, 
Day's daughter. 

The Gloaming, waits ; and Silence drips : 
There from her gown of light she slips. 
And with the star of twilight dips 
The water. 

Poet 

Surely you have good eyes, 8ir. — Long ago 
The ancient wisdom of the world, that Snake 
Of God's own Eden, in such shapes did show 
Himself to mortals, making their senses ache 
With longings for a loveliness that drew 
The mind of man beyond the things he knew. 



The Snake, that once in Eden spake. 
The ancient Snake, that wrought our woe, 
Still lies with bright green eyes awake 
By every wildwood path we go: 
We may not see him ; may not know : 
But still he waits eternal there 
Watching whatever way we fare. 



THE COMMON EARTH 23 

We feel his presence in the leaves, 

That murmur of forgotten things : 

Of longings, and of love that grieves 

For whilom joys and happenings: 

Of vanished lights and broken wings, 

And all the perished host, it seems, 

That once made fair the hills and streams. 

We hear him whispering in the trees. 
And in the waters of the rocks, 
Of wildwood dreams and mysteries, 
That 'tend the visionary flocks 
Of Beauty who, eluding, mocks 
All efforts of the human mind 
To seize her and forever bind. 

We see his eyes at sunset flame 
And pierce the oenturied forest through. 
Looking the things that have no name, 
To which our longings are a clue ; — 
And memories of lives we knew 
riow back from outer nothingness 
Upon our souls to curse or bless. 

Amorphous, dim, he folds us round 
In darkness, like another night: 
His rustling body wreathes the ground. 
His eyeballs burn with emerald light : 
We hear and see and feel his might, — 
That made religions once of old, — 
With worship of dead myths take hold. 



24 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

He is a part of what we see 

Yet do not see; of what we hear 

Yet never hear : within each tree 

And rock and stream he watches near, 

Addressing now the spirit ear 

With thoughts; and now the spirit eye 

With dreams that pass but never die. 

Fool 

That takes me hack to times when men wore 

skins; 
When Earth teemed dragons; tons, that soared, 

with wings; 
Or isled the ocean with enormous fins: 
Primordial guesses at approaching things. 
Why, while you spoke, in mind I seemed to go 
Back to creation; to the very day 
God wrought a mate for man. Meseems I know. 
Yes, am quite sure. He made her in this way. 

I saw Him first set up a bone, 
And breathe on it until it shone 
And grew a heart, to curse or bless, 
And filled with love and wantonness, 
All Hell's delight, all Heaven's distress. 

Then to Himself God smiling said, 

" The heart 's the least; far more the head." 

He shaped the head ; then molded fair 

The bright destruction of her hair. 

And therein made for man a snare. 



THE COMMON EARTH 25 

In front He painted fresli her face, 

All innocent, divine of grace; 

But underneath the angel mien 

He hid a devil, dark, unclean, 

A monster thing whose gaze vs^as green. 

Into the face He set the eyes. 
Full of beguilement and surmise, 
Of prayer and passion, make-believe, 
And tears and laughter, to deceive 
The heart of man God meant to grieve. 

The nose and mouth He fashioned next : 
The nose precise; the mouth perplexed 
With virtue and the quenchless thirst 
For fruit forbidden, blest and curst 
With longings for life's best and worst. 

Then loud God laughed and spake again: 
" Without the body all were vain ! " — 
And underneath the head he set 
The throat and breasts, like roses met. 
And arms; all portions of the net. 

The torso then and limbs of snow 
He made and fixed them fair below: 
And in her feet and in her breast 
He breathed the spirit of unrest 
And vanity of soul distressed. 



26 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

" Behold ! " God said, " my masterpiece ! 
Through whom the world shall know increase. — 
And man will give me thanks, I know, 
And laud My work, and, heart aglow, 
Accept My gift and all his woe." 

Poet 

No woman 'd thank you for that, understand! 
What an arraignment of the sex ! — You went 
A little far there, friend. And, out of hand. 
You are a fool who has grown insolent; 
That 's what fair Eve would say. — Looh where 

yon cloud 
Takes on strange shape, with pearl and azure 

browed: 
Perhaps it beckons us, — what do you say ? — 
To fairer dreams of the lost Far Away. 

Far away, oh, far away, 

Wliere the clouds grow up and the shadows gray ; 

Where twilight dreams and the rain-wind sleeps, 

And the cloud-born waterfall, singing, leaps. 

Oh, there, whatever the soul may say, — 

Far away, aye, far away, — 

Is the happy Land of Yesterday. 

Loveliness walks on its liills, and sighs ; 
And friendship smiles from its oldtime skies ; 
Love, like a maid who w^alks in dreams. 
Flutters with white its vales and streams : 



THE COMMON EARTH 27 

And over it all a gladness lies, — 

As soft as eyes, as love's own eyes, — 

And heart's ease, breathing slumberous sighs. 

!Never near, oh, never near. 

That Land where dreams of the heart appear ; 

Where Revery lays her spirit bare. 

And Mystery lures with golden hair: 

Oh, there, whatever the heart may hear, — 

I^ever near, yes, never near, — 

Is the Land of Ghosts that our hearts hold dear. 

Witchery waits by its lonely ways 

With mild-eyed dreams of other days ; 

And down old paths, where young feet went, 

Faith, with her open testament. 

Walks with Hope through the golds and grays 

Of oldtime ways, remembered ways, 

The look in her face of long-past Mays. 

ISTever near and far away 

Are the lone, lost Lands of Yesterday 

And dim To-morrow, where dream and ghost 

Wander and whisper and beckon us most. 

Open your gates in the Cloudland gray, 

Never near and far away, 

And let us in where our longings stray. 

Fool 

Well, you and I can always journey there : 

We have the receipt of fernseed. But beware! 



28 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

How you step yonder, by that tree. — Meseems 
I saw a Faery hide there. — How absurd! — 
It 's but a burnished beetle. How it gleams! 
It could tell tales now, if it would! — my word! 

Last night beneath this ancient tree, 

Dim in the moonlight and the ferns, 

The elfin folk held revelry, 

I know by what my soul discerns 

Mysteriously. 

For, look you, where yon circle runs 
Of bluets, winking very wise. 
The rapture of those tricksy ones 
Has put confusion in their eyes, 
That meet the sun's. 

And, mark you, how the toadstool there 
Protrudes its bulk in Falstaff state; 
It too has seen, I well will swear, 
An elf, and learned to imitate 
His pompous air. 

And where that lichen lays a streak 
Of rose, fair as a flowering stock, 
The place but recollects her cheek. 
The fay's, who danced upon this rock 
Above the creek. 

And, hark! between this rock and root, 
Wliere, shrill, the cricket pipes away, 



THE COMMON EARTH 29 

A faery dropped a magic flute, 
That never stops, but still must play 
For faery foot. 

And that same beetle, glittering by, 

Has mailed itself, as it has seen 

Titania's guard, in royal dye 

Of bronz and green, when round their queen 

They caught its eye. 

The toad that squats, observing naught. 
By yonder mushrooms' bench and bar. 
Has donned the Puck-wise look he caught 
From Oberon's chief councilor 
In judgment sought. 

The bees that murmur drowsy here, 
The gnats and wood-flies, but repeat 
The music which a sleepy ear 
Caught when all Elfland rose to greet 
Queen Mab with cheer. 

Oh, there is more than eye may see, 

That to the moon is visible ! — 

If it could speak, this ancient tree, ^^ 

What would it say? what would it tell 

Of Faerie ? 

But it — it keeps its council close, 
As do the crickets and the flowers : — 
Ah, could it speak and tell of those ! 



30 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

What tales we 'd hear, of elfin powers ! 
What things none knows ! 

Poet 

Spring 's taken full possession of your brain. 
And I can feel it working here in mine; 
Why, there she stands with all her radiant train. 
The Spring herself, beneath a wildgrape-vine. 

There her beauty dons a gown 
White of dogwood blooms, 
And goes dreaming up and down 
Through the wood's dim rooms; 
Waters, falling, make a sound 
Like her heart's full beat; 
And the silence all around 
Rustles with her feet. 

There the iris, timidly, 

From its hood of dew. 

To the wind that wanders by 

Lifts an eye of blue : 

Here the cautious violet, 

As if it could hear 

Music none has dreamed of yet. 

Lays to earth an ear. 

There the winds on tiptoe tread, 
Lullabying low 

To the bee whose blossom-bed 
Rocks now fast, now slow. 



THE COMMON EARTH 31 

Here the sunliglit, like a charm, 
Lays a touch of gold, 
As if summoning some form. 
Gnome-like, from the mold. 

Here the Mayapple, that seems 

In a wax-white trance, 

With suggestions of its dreams 

Clouds its countenance. 

On the hush no sound intrudes, 

Save a redbird's song, 

And the wood-brook's interludes 

Singing low along. 

Presences of wind and light. 
Myths, the Spring gives form. 
Glow upon the spirit-sight. 
With compelling charm; 
Blushing into bloom and breeze. 
Making sweet the house. 
Where the white Spring takes her ease 
Under blossoming boughs. 

Grant me, Heaven, eyes to see, 

Evident of grace, 

Her divine virginity, 

Naked, face to face ! 

All her goddess loveliness, 

So I may adore, 

Like Tiresias of old. 

Blind forevermore. 



32 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Fool 

Now you have said it ! — Things seem all agog 
For something that has happened or will hap: 
Why, looh you there, even this moldering log 
Has clothed itself in moss, and spreads its lap 
For some ivild sylvan s seat; or for the Queen 
Of all the Wood Sprites to survey the scene. 



The flag-flower flies an azure streak; 
The dogtooth violet bugles out: 
What festival, beside this creek, 
Is Faeryland about ? 



The bluebell in the wind swings peals 
Of azure, and the poppies chime 
A golden call, whose sound reveals 
How Elfland trips to time. 



Such ecstasy as that which sings. 
Compelling, in each root and seed. 
And in the egg wakes wilding wings 
That flutter to be freed. 



Soul music, ear has never heard. 
That breathes o'er earth its living breath. 
And flings Life's last triumphant word 
Full in the face of Death. 



the common earth 33 

Poet 

Death f death ? — There is no death ! — I know! 

— And why? — 
I 've been to Avalon, the shadowy Isle, 
And know the Beautiful can never die, 
That God permitted for a little while 
To walk the Earth and cheer us with its smile. 

For I have been in Avalon, 
And walked its glimmering groves among, 
And talked with Beauty, dead and gone, 
And Love that lives in ancient song. 
Yes, I have been in Avalon : 
Therefore, you see, my brow is wan. 

Remembering still the look of those 
Sore-wounded ones, who loved in vain, 
Whose lives are wrapped now in repose, 
Freed from the vassalage of pain. 
An inner peace my spirit wears 
Regardful of that look of theirs. 

Pale violet were the belting seas, 
And violet too both hill and dale; 
And, unremembering, over these 
The heaven like a violet pale; 
And cliff and mountain from the steep 
Let down dim streams as if asleep. 

And here and there the ancient woods 
Spread mighty and majestic robes, 



34 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Wherein were woven attitudes 
Of beauty, marble-pale : dim globes 
And towers of loveliness, it seemed 
The Island into being dreamed. 

1^0 sun I saw; I saw no moon: 
But twilight dreamed forever there, 
With shadowy starlight all a-swoon, 
Above the blue and quiet air: 
While all around, from east to west, 
The consecration lay of rest. 

There saw I queens of old romance. 
And glimmering kings of legend pass ; 
And on their brows and in their glance 
I read their dreams as in a glass: 
And, of my soul remembered yet. 
The dreams have taught me to forget. 

But in their hearts my heart could read 
'No memory of what had been; 
No old regret for thought or deed, 
Or that they once were king and queen. 
They had forgotten all thereof — 
The hate of earth as well as love. 

Long time I spake them, dim, apart ; 

Long time I talked with queen and king, 

A^Hiile through the heaven of my heart 

Oblivion trailed a twilight wing; 

And on my spirit's lifted brow 

Was poured the peace that haunts it now. 



THE COMMON EARTH 35 

Yes, I have been in Avalon, 
The faery Isle in faery seas; 
Therefore it is my face is wan, 
My heart at peace remembering these. 
It may not be, and yet — I seem 
Forever w^aking from a dream. 

Fool 

That 's where I came from. I'm a prisoner, 

too. 
In this mad world. Why, I was Dagonet, 
King Arthur's fool. 'T was there I met with 

you: 
And you ivere Tristram. — / cannot forget 
How well you sang once of the fair Isolt; 
You dare not tell me that you have forgot ? — 
These airs of Spring help memory a lot. — 
The world is changed since then, or I'm a dolt. 

Is that the acid sorrel 

And honey-scented clover ? — 

Or can it be a quarrel 

Of wood nymphs in the cover? 

Who in their leafy wrangle 

Shake fragTance from the tangle 

Of boughs that wildflowers spangle. 

Oh, witchcraft of the sorrel! 
Oh, glamour of the clover ! — 
Do you not glimpse the coral- 
Tipped breasts of each wood-lover? 



36 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Each dryad, slow unsheathing 
Dim limbs from bark enwreathing 
Her bosom, blossom-breathing ? 

Oh, sorcery of sorrel! 
Oh, magic of the clover ! — 
What glimmers through the laurel ? 
What wings its white way over ? — 
What myth, that haunts these bowers, 
Child of the winds and flowers. 
Touches this world of ours ? 

The rosy tips of sorrel. 

And purple cups of clover. 

Bewitch my soul, and star all 

The ways with dreams that hover : — 

Dreams, shadowy as Isis, 

Who somehow there arises, 

Born of my soul's surmises. 

Poet 

Dreams! dreams! enough of dreams! of myths 

and dreams! 
Here notv 's reality: a faery flower. 
That 's substance for you. How its heauty 

seems 
T' invest the moment with immortal dower! 

Flower of the wet wild woodland, lonely flower, 
Trembling in elfin beauty by the brink 



THE COMMON EARTH 37 

Of this wild stream, which murmurs of the 

shower, 
That brimmed its breast with joy for quite an 

hour, — 
Would I could read the faery thoughts you 

think, 
And hear of ouphen marvels, all awink. 
That met your eyes last night in this dark 

bower ! 

Dim as the web the spider slenderly 
Hammocks at dusk for Dawn to rope with dew ; 
Pale in the moonbeam, at their revelry. 
You have beheld the Elves around this tree 
Wild-whirling, And could we but learn of you. 
Then might we find of Faeryland the clue, 
The shibboleth, the open sesame. 

That world our childhood entered, manhood 

lost : 
Invisible except unto the heart: 
A world whose far dominions none has crossed : 
That to the soul shows its immortal coast 
But once in life; and, intimated part 
Of all our dreams, strives ever through high art 
To make them real to the uttermost. 

Ah, flower of the whirlwind and the rain ! 
Frail forest flower, on whose lip of spar 
Spring leaves her chilly kiss, a rosy stain, 
What profits all this dreaming, since again. 



38 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The clue escapes us ? hope, that leads us far, 
Teasing the soul beyond its mortal bar, 
Only to find, alas! all dreams are vain. 

Fool 

There spoTce no botanist, upon my word! 
But a true poet. Sir. Why, even a fool 
Can see through that. All dreaming is absurd 
To sordid souls, who come not here to school. — 
Look! there are wild peas, bless ihem! — and 

they dream 
Of other things, I think, than that they seem. 

Here 's the tavern of the bees : 
Here the butterflies, that swing 
Velvet cloaks, and to the breeze 
Whisper soft conspiracies. 
Pledge their Lord, the Faery King: 
Here the hotspur hornets bring 
Fiery word, and drink away 
Heat and hurry of the day. 

Here the merchant bee, his gold 
On his thigh, falls fast asleep; 
And the armored beetle bold, 
Like an errant-knight of old. 
Feasts and tipples pottles-deep: 
While the friar crickets keep 
Creaking low a drinking-song, 
Like an Ave, all day long. 



THE COMMON EARTH 39 

Here the baron bumblebee, 
Grumbling in his drowsy cup, 
Half forgets his knavery : 
Dragonilies sip swaggeringly, 
Cavaliers who stop to sup: 
To whose brag come whining up 
Gnats, the thieves, that tap the tuns 
Of the honeyed musk that runs. 

Here the jewelled wasp, that goes 
On his swift highwayman way. 
Seeks a moment of repose, 
Drains his cup of wine-of-rose. 
Sheathes his dagger for the day: 
And the moth, in downy gray. 
Like some lady of the gloom. 
Slips into a perfumed room. 

When the darkness cometh on. 
Round the tavern, golden gTeen, 
Fireflies flit with torches wan, 
Looking if the guests be gone, 
Linkboys of the Faery Queen: 
Lighting her who rides, unseen. 
To her elfin sweetpea bower. 
Where she rests a scented hour. 

Poet 

Yes; there is witchcraft in these woods. — Right 

there. 
Beyond those vales, are hills where I have been 



40 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And talked with visions. If I did hut dare, 
I too might tell you of the things I 've seen. 

Old hills, that break the far horizon's fall, 
Within my heart again I hear you call, 
Bidding me come and talk with mysteries 
Of woodlands where, pale-pooled, the waters lie. 
In whose enchanted glass the forest sees 
Its form reflected and the dreams go by 
Of silence and of solitude, who keep 
Watch round their mirrors, gazing long and 
deep. 

My hills! gray-peopled with the wraiths of 

rain — 
Mist-ghosts, that gather and dissolve again: 
Pale exhalations that, in dim retreats 
Of foam and fern, above the slim cascade 
Fling wild a rainbow; or, in slender sheets 
Of foggy stealth, phantom the dripping glade. 
Where Witchcraft cabins with her wildflower 

spells, 
Filling the wood with magic of their bells. 

Hills, that the moon's white feet, how oft ! have 

kissed : 
Where wan Endymion and his dreams keep 

tryst : 
Where the pale soul of Beauty doth abide, 
Whispering her legends, to the cradled flowers, 



THE COMMON EARTH 41 

Of filmy things, moth-gowned and glowworm- 
eyed, 
Who lace the ways and gossamer the bowers 
With webs for dews to tiptoe and bewitch 
With pearl and crystal till each weed is rich. 

Hills, from whose breasts, in drowsy fancy, rise 
The perfume-thoughts of flowers ; fragrant 

sighs ; 
And dim damp dreams of fungi: imagings 
Of Haunters of the ferns who, through the 

night, 
Speed thin the tumult of invisible wings. 
That take the heart with terror and delight, 
Dreaming it hears the nymph who fled from 

Pan, 
And all the immortal myths that with her ran. 

Old hills ! beyond you, in my soul I know, 
Still lies the Wonderland of Long Ago, 
High-mountained and deep- valley ed ; elfed with 

streams. 
Where old Enchantment builds her bower of 

bloom. 
And Magic rears his City of Lost Dreams, 
Templed with glory that no time shall doom: 
The shadow of whose marvels, as of old. 
Still lures me in the sunset's towers of gold. 



42 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Fool 

From following that lure you got thai looJc. 
The mystery is solved ivhy you are here, 
And I can see now why your eye 's so clear. — 
I, too, have walked with spirits; hy this brooJcj 
The lonely spirits of the changing year. 

One haunts the woods that Spring makes wet, 

Trailing faint skirts of violet : 

She sits between the shade and shine 

And turns to heaven a trillium-face, 

Plaiting her locks of celandine 

That ripple to her throat's green lace 

Of ferns, whereat, ethereal blue. 

The iris sparkles, gemmed with dew. 

And I have met the one who goes, 
With hands of berry-stain and rose, 
With Summer. Or divined her near 
By some warm wind's dim evidence 
Of lily scent or lavender, 
Or plum, red-ripening by some fence, 
Near which she sat with head a-nod, 
Rich-robed in broom and goldenrod. 

But in the rotting woods of Fall 
She turns a witch and with wild call 
Walks arm in arm with Death, and shakes 
A head of moldy moss and grass ; 
Her weedy cloak among the brakes 



THE COMMON EARTH 43 

Hangs torn; and wheresoe'er she pass 
The woods grow conscious of decay, 
And pulpy toadstools mark her way. 

In Winter I have found her dead, 
The berried thorn about her head ; 
Her face, an icy fragment, cold. 
Rimmed with white locks of frost and snow ; 
Her tattered shroud, the tarnished gold 
Of leaves that on the old beech blow ; 
And in her withered hand the last 
Wild thistle, twisted by the blast. 

Poet 

Yes, you have met them. I, too, let me tell, 
Have looked on spirits in this forest dell. 
Mark you, — this very moment, while you spoke. 
Something befell me that enthrals: It seems 
I saw as sees this tree, this ancient oak. 
The Presences of beauty Nature dreams. 

There where the whiteheart's blossom clings, 

And columbine is frailly flushed. 

Just where that cat-bird sings and swings, 

And water wild is rushed, — 

The old oak crooked its arm at me. 

That branch, and said, " Come here and 

see!" — 
And, with a hand of witchery, 
A leaf my forehead brushed. 



44 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And, lo, a voice, like some old friend's. 

Spoke softly, — " See what none has seen : — 

Wliere myth begins and matter ends. 

And all that lies between." — 

And, lo ! the dream which hamits the rose 

Took on faint form; and, at repose, 

Tlie thought, which in the tree's heart grows, 

Revealed itself in green. 

I saw the spirit, white and wild, 
That dances with the waterfall; 
And like the beauty of a child 
Hangs laughing over all : 
I saw the faery of the fern 
Swing wet its web at every turn; 
And in the dew the pixy burn 
Who holds the grass in thrall. 

I saw the sylphids of the light 
Gleam into being — print the ground ; 
And with them, whispering into sight. 
The wind with wildflowers crowned : 
I saw the sylvan sit at ease 
Behind the bark of covering trees; 
And in the brambles, watching these, 
The Faun whom none hath bound. 

I saw the harmony around, — 
Bee-murmur, wing-beat, burst of song, — 
Evolve a silvery shape of sound. 
That nymph-like moved along: 



THE COMMON EARTH 45 

I saw the happiness that fills 
The heart of things, that never stills, 
Run with the rapture of the rills, 
A goddess straight and strong. 

A moment more and I had seen 

The soul itself of Beauty bared. 

And all that Nature's love may mean 

To me had been declared : 

Her dreams grotesque, or beautiful. 

Her mysteries, — no years annul. 

That keep the world from growing dull, — 

By me had then been shared. 

Between the unknown and the known, 

Bewildered with the vision, I 

Let go the bough, whose touch had shown 

What hides from every eye : 

The charm was snapped ; the spell was o'er ; 

The forest lay there as before, 

Mere lights and shadows, nothing more. 

And winds that whispered by. 

Fool 

She 's always dreaming — Nature. There she 

goes. 
Putting it on her canvas in vast strokes 
Of sunset: gold and cinnabar and rose. 
That vision forth the glory, say, which glows 
Around God's throne, transforming all those 

oaks. 



46 the poet, the fool, and the faeries 

• Poet 

Deep in tlie west 

A tattered bulk of cloud, 

A magic galleon, gold of hull and shroud, 

Rolls, — ribbed with fire, — on some perilous 

quest : 
^ow, from deep rifts 
Of darkening rose, 

A daemon castle, burning ruby, grows, — 
An Afrit palace which enchantment lifts. 

Fool 

The hut on the hilltop. 
The pool in the sand. 
The rock by the wayside 
Seem touched by a hand. 
And answer a summons 
To put off the old, 
Discard their disguises, 
And burn into gold. 

Poet 

Deep in the east 

Th' anticipating sky 

Silvers with light as of a presence nigh. 

Divinity, shepherding clouds, pale, pearly 

fleeced ; 
Upon whose view, 
From gradual deeps 



THE COMMON EARTH 47 

Of glimmering dusk, huntress Diana leaps, 
Her moonbeam-arrows spearing them through 
and through. 

Fool 

The heart of the clover, 
The soul of the rose, 
The spirits of water 
And leaves in repose. 
Dissolve their enchantment, 
And tell to the dusk 
The dreams that invest them 
With music and musk. 

Madmen or fools that maunder, men would say ; 
Who 'd see no more there than mere golds and 

reds. 
And name it simply " Sunset " ; go their way. 
Their minds upon their dinners and their beds. 

Poet 

We have our poetry and they have theirs: 
Theirs takes a more material form than ours. — 
How wild the woods smell now! how sweet the 

airs! 
Look where the Twilight for her flight pre- 
pares; 
And drops her brooch, the evening-star she 

wears. 
At Night's dark feet, on Heavens topmost 
towers. 



48 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Wlien I am dead, mj soul shall haunt these 

woods, 
As bird or bee, 

These dim, grave forests where no foot intrudes 
Irreverently. 

"Where Spring proclaims herself in orchis pale 
And moccasin-flower. 

And many another bloom that tells its tale 
To sun and shower. 

Here shall my soul go singing all day long 
With wren and thrush, 
Or, with the bee, hum honey-sweet among 
The hyssoped hush. 

Or all night long, wild with the whippoorwill, 

Wail to the moon ; 

Or with the moth slip glimmering, white and 

still, 
Where flowers lie strewn. 

Here I shall watch and see the ghosts go by 
Of all the loves, 

The forest lovers who have loved, as I, 
Deep woods and groves. 

And they will know me — not as bee or bird — 

But for a soid 

Through whom the forest speaks an ancient 

word 
Of joy and dole. 



THE COMMON EARTH 49 

And meditative moods of bliss and pain 

Shall witli me fare, 

And thoughts, that haunt the shimmering sun 

and rain, 
With irised hair. 

And living visions too shall pass me by, 
Or with me go 

Singing of beauty, who with quiet eye 
Shall bid me know. 

And to my heart her message shall be clear 
In ways unknown ; 

And dreams, that whispered at my mortal ear, 
Shall there be shown. 

And I shall speak then with the bird and bee, 
And tree and flower. 

And they shall know me part of all they see, 
And bless the hour. 

Fool 

The dictionaries have a name for all 

Who love the woods as you do. I shall call 

My poet now, — that is, if he insist, — 

No more mere Poet hut Nemophilist. — 

But dush draws on, that is — the Elfins' dawn. 

My little playmates' . Now their dance begins. 

LooJc where their lanthorns flit, now bright, now 

wan. — 
No fireflies they, hut tripping FaeryJcins. 



50 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The Night puts on a strange disguise, 
A mask and domino of flame, 
Through which I see her stealthy eyes 
Gaze with a look that has no name : 
Before me seems to grow her dream, 
Taking the form of gleam on gleam. 

A million lights, a million stars 

Of twinkling gold with emerald blent, 

Between the woods and pasture bars. 

Fashion another firmament. 

Of faery fire and elfin flame, 

That puts the heaven above to shame. 

The cedar and the oak are hung 
With will-o'-wisps that never cease, 
And dark the twinkling fields among 
They loom like monster Christmas trees, 
Around which, glimmering, glide and glance 
The torches of a goblin dance. 

What faery fete is this she dreams, 
Old Night ? What revelry of damps 
And dews ? in which her darkness gleams 
Pale-jewelled, hung with pixy lamps, 
That work illusions, mysteries. 
Fantastic, in the eye that sees. 

Each moment flames a fiery sign 
From blade to bush, from bush to tree ; 
A web of lights, a flickering line 
Of stars that quiver constantly; 



THE COMMON EARTH 51 

A pulse of gold that beats delight 
Within the viewless veins of Night. 

Oh, Puck-wild raptures of the dew, 

Oh, Ariel transports of the dusk, 

Now let my spirit join with you 

And dance within Night's heart of musk. 

Until, like you, it come to know 

The ouphen wonders there that glow. 

Poet 

Join you the Masque of Night, hut I must go. 
I am not worthy of such confidence. 
Ignorant, and skeptic often, as you know. 
Of many things for which my mind 's too dense. 
My gentle Fool, to make the matter plain, 
I fear I 'd spoil your revel. You remain. 
My heart stays with you hy this forest pool, — 
That tetter part of me men call the fool. 

Now whirling flies, whose whine is like a sting, 
Bred of the water, where at noon the snake 
Rippled or wreathed, no longer rage and sing. 
And by this wood-pool nothing is awake 
Except the moth that, like a flower's ghost. 
Searches the shadows for a dream long lost. 

There in the dusk strange lights define them- 
selves. 
Glimmer on glimmer and green glow on glow, 



52 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Like some fantastic revel of the elves, 
The fireflies flit their torches to and fro ; 
Twinkling in faery fete, a drowsy dance, 
The pool repeats with starry necromance. 

Hark ! — to the pool is given a voice ; a throat 
Of raucous music, hoarsening the night; 
Toad-tongued it jars the darkness with one note, 
Making the silence guttural as with fright: 
And now the oak vn\h owlet speech replies, 
The dark rock twitters into bat-winged cries. 

And now the wood gives answer: fine and 

sharp, 
Shrilling an insect syllable in each weed. 
Protesting fiercely. On its cricket-harp 
The darkness strums, while, like insistent seed. 
The fireflies sow the night with flame on flame. 
And the dark whippoorwill cries wild its name. 

Now all the east 's aglow : and, pale around. 
Is pause. And now a rumor shakes the trees — 
A wind that whispers of a beauty found, 
Immortal, godlike, veiled in mysteries : 
And now, upon the hilltop, look ! — the moon, 
Diana-like, breasting the woods that swoon. 

Fool 

Again the whippoorwiU's darh Jceenings fall: 
And in my heart they echo — sad, oh, sad! 



THE COMMON EARTH 53 

In my fool heart, that cries for things it had. 
When it was young; old things beyond recall. 

An old house on a lonely hill ; 

An apple-tree before its door — 

How oft I watched the Springtime spill 

Pale petals on its old, worn sill! 

And through faint boughs the May moon pour 

Its light like some soft spirit! 

And, oh, how wild the whippoorwill 

Would call ! how wildly weird and shrill, 

By that gray house upon the hill, 

And how I loved to hear it ! 

The tree is dead ; the house is gone ; 
The old house by the apple-tree ; 
The whippoorwill that sang till dawn, 
Wliere blossoms pelted lane and lawn. 
Will sing no more for Spring and me, 
Dim in the moonlight swinging: 
But still, ah me ! when Spring comes on, 
Back to that place my soul is drawn. 
Where, glimmering in the tree long gone, 
That wild bird still is singing. 

Poet 

When fools wax sad their listeners must depart: 
For Life demands of fools a merry heart. — 
/ too was young once, and have memories too. 
But, ah, the little sister, whom I knew! 



54 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Little sister, faery sister, you whom often I have 

heard ; 
You, dim kin to all the wildflowers and to every 

wandering bird; 
You, wild portion of all beauty, symbol of all 

greenwood lore, 
Take me to your heart and hold me as you did 

in days of yore. 

Little sister, elfin sister, let me feel your eyes 

again, 
iWhere the April azure sparkled into dreams of 

sun and rain; 
In whose deeps, as in high heaven, shot with 

shadow and with light. 
Glowed the look of far Adventure and the lure 

and dare of Flight. 

Little sister, shadow sister, let me hear your 

voice once more. 
With the music of the genii opening an Aladdin 

door; 
Where the call of every yearning, that the 

human heart has known. 
Took me to its breast and held me, made my 

very soul its own. 

Little sister, pixy sister, let me feel again your 
hands ; 

Let their touch again translate me to those far- 
off Wonderlands: 



THE COMMON EARTH 55 

Lands of strange unknown allurements, old en- 
chantments, once that held, 

Drew my heart with faery fancies in the days 
when youth enspelled. 

Little sister, forest sister, you, part bird and 

part a flower, 
Lead me, as you often led me in my childhood, 

for an hour, 
Past the ranges of the real, into lands where 

love allures, 
iWhere the dreams of beauty wander with the 

magic that endures. 

Little sister, wonder sister, ope again the gates 

that rose. 
Built of mystery and marvel, in the walls of 

Let 's-Suppose ; 
Of that city of old witchcraft, towered with 

Legend of all time. 
Where we sat with Song and Story and with all 

the Sons of Rhyme. 

Little sister, elfin sister, take me back into those 
fields, 

Partly sunset, partly morning, where the war- 
riors ride with shields; 

Knightly Dreams of fame and glory, and the 
Daughters of Desire, 

By their sides, on snow-white palfreys, wake in 
them the battle-fire. 



56 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Little sister, faery sister, tell me whither have 
you gone ? 

You, who whispered me in darkness and ad- 
dressed me in the dawn: 

You, who fostered me in childhood, told me 
dreams that should come true — 

Little sister, little sister, ah, the dreams that 
went with you! 

The Poet rises and departs. The Fool sits on 
the mossy trunk of a fallen tree, elbows on 
knees, and chin in palm. He appears to 
he listening to something sibilant in earth 
and air. Suddenly starting to his feet he 
gazes knowingly in a certain direction. 
Then smiling furtively to himself he steals 
cautiously forward, and, hollowing a hand 
to his mouth, talks mysteriously to the 
whispering woods. 

So, so ! my Little Sister, we will play. — 
Come forth! come forth, you my Poet lost! 
I know the tree you hide in all the day. 
Come forth, my Little Sister, and be tossed. — 
Come! come! my Ladykin, no more delay! 
Come forth! come forth! and bring along with 

you 
Ariel and Puck, and all your playmates, pray. 
And those lost dreams that our good poet knew. 
Come forth, my Little Sister, come and play ! 



THE DRYADS 

A ONE-ACT LYRICAL DRAMA OF ANCIENT 
GREECE 

Scene: A deep and mighty Forest near the Vale of 
Tempe in Thessaly. 

Time: Approaching the close of the Tenth Century, 
B. c, the day when through permission of the wood god, 
Pan, at the end of every hundred years, the Dryads are 
released from their tree boles. 

A syrinx is heard. Then a murmur, indistinct at first, 
but gradually grounng louder and clearer, like a great 
wind in the forest. All at once, shapes, silvery green 
and golden brown, are made visible, flowing like light 
from the hoary trunks of the trees. 

First Dryad 

Again the cycle rounds its years ! 

Again, o'erhead and all around 

The night that clasped my beauty clears — 

My limbs are free, my heart unbound. 

Second Dryad 

O beauty, mothered of the green 
And gold that haunt the sacred wood, 
Take heart once more and run between 
The silence and the solitude. 



58 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

A Thikd Dry ad {far off) 

Come, where the moss spreads carpets cool : 
The fern hangs fold on emerald fold! 
Come, where the hyssop banks the pool 
With heaven ; poppies nod their gold. 

A FouETH Deyad {approaching') 

Bend down, O boughs ! and blow, O leaves ! 
And, winds, come take us by the hair! 
Come, dance with us, where nothing grieves, 
And with our wild hearts laugh at care ! 

FiEST Deyad 

As in a pool a pebble drops, 
The clouds let do^vn a little breeze, 
And round the forest's circled tops 
A ripple runs like breaking seas. 

Second Deyad 

Oh, let it lead us, guide us, to 
Our heart's desire beyond the sun, — 
The Dreams, Faun-like, who still pursue 
Our love, and ever round us run. 

The Dreams, the Fauns, whom no man sees, 
Only our eyes that watch behind 
The bark, and through investing trees 
Behold what haunts the wildwood's mind. . . 



THE COMMON EARTH 59 

Third Deyad {far away) 

Hark, how the cascade calls us there ! 
Wild-tossing locks of foam and moss — 
Come, let us trail with hers our hair. 
And trip her Naiad limbs across ! 

Fourth Dryad 

Now arm in arm, aroimd and round, 
In wildflower cirques of pearl and blue, 
Dance down the wind, without a sound. 
And wahe the new buds, breaking through. 

Then, face to heaven, light as air, 
Where every leaf winks wet its eye 
Of dew, that starred Dawn's chilly hair, 
Come flit in glimmering beauty by. 

The forms of the Dryads, who have been circling 
and murmuring together to the chanting of 
the four voices, suddenly arrest their move- 
ments, and lean listening intently to a 
sound that seems to rise up from under- 
ground. 

Fifth Dryad 

But, oh, what calls! what cry intrudes? 
Whose voice is that ? what sound of moan ? 

Voice from Underground 

It is the deep roots of the woods 
Crying for freedom like your own. 



60 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Fifth Deyad 
Where is god Pan ? 

Many Deyads {near and far away) 
O Pan! Pan! Pan! 

Voices from TJndergeouni> 

Make free our forms, whose twisted hold 
Has grasped through many a century's spai 
The mighty forest, dark and old. 

Many Voices {windily, far and near) 
Pan ! Pan ! god Pan ! 

Fifth Deyad (heseecMngly) 

Oh, set these free ! 
Unloose from them the knotted dark ! 
From coiling shapes that none can see, 
Like us, who crouch behind the bark! 

A syrinx is heard, hird-like, approaching 
through the trees. Then a voice, seem- 
ingly that of Pan, speaTcs. 

But all your praying is in vain! 
Again on you the ancient doom 
Falls, and your beauty once again 
Must grow into a living tomb. 



THE COMMON EARTH 61 

The hird-like syrinx is heard again, 'pensively, 
plaintively , gradually dying away in the 
distance. The glimmering forms of the 
Dryads remain frozen, as it were, heside the 
trunks of their respective trees. Unutter- 
ably sad the voice that first announced tri- 
umphantly their freedom now pierces the 
silence of the listening forest. 

First Dkyad 

Around my form again I feel 
The solid darkness close and creep ! — 
Farewell ! farewell ! till Pan imseal 
The night again wherein we sleep. 

As they are slowly withdrawn into the envelop- 
ing trunks of the trees, many voices are 
heard, lyrically; finally blending more and 
more whisperingly with the movements of 
the branches and the leaves, until, more and 
more indistinct, the leafy sound, rising and 
falling at regular intervals, is hardly dis- 
tinguishable from the wind in the woods. 

A Voice 

If you hearken and heed in the forest, 
When the wind blows soft above, 
You may hear, in the bending branches, 
Our wild hearts beat with love, 
And our airy bodies move. 



62 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Echo 

With lights of green and gold, 
And fragrance manifold, 
Thej mark the moss and mold. 

Another Voice 

As we glimmer and glide and glimmer, 
Dim-limbed of the wind and sun, 
In the woods an old enchantment. 
Like a drowsy dream, is spun, 
A dream that 's never done. 

Echo 

And tender as the blue 

Of wildflowers wet with dew 

Their soft eyes gaze at you. 

A Fab-Off Voice 
And, oh, when the fountains call us 
Through veils of the foam and moss, 
How we dance to the cascade's music. 
And trail like mist across. 
With rainbowed hair atoss! 

Echo 

How sweet, where waters flow, 
And fern and wildflower grow. 
To watch them come and go ! 



THE COMMON EARTH 63 

First Voice 

But ever a sound of sorrow 
Breaks in on our revery : 
The sob of tlie roots of the forest, 
That hold to heaven each tree. . . . 
What now shall set them free? — 

Echo 

Alas! if I but knew 

A charm that would undo ! 

But lo! a prisoner too 

Am I ! am I ! 

A prisoner too, like you, 

Until I die. 

Their voices fade away in a long-drawn sigh, 
and the forest is slowly darkening when the 
hushes are cautiously parted and two young 
Fauns appear in the circle of trees, glim- 
mering into dusk. 

First Faun 
They laughed at me. 

Second Faun 

They scoffed at me. 
They cried me fool. They called me fey. 



64 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

TiEST Faun 

But Pan lias shut each in her tree, 
And we are free to run and play. 

Second Faun 
How old they are ! — But we are young. 

First Faun 

!N^o matter! we are wise as they. 
And not so close of speech and tongue. — 
Now, brother, tell me: Yesterday 
What happened you beside this way. 

Second Faun 

It was among these very woods, 
When darkness closed the wild hills in, 
And with a swiftness, that eludes, 
The spider-life came forth to spin: 
Between a mighty tree and rock, 
Dim in a ray of moonlight thin, 
I saw Pan sitting, wild of lock, 
His huge hands resting on his chin. 
Where crickets made a drowsy din. 

His beard poured down a waterfall 
Before him; and his moss-like hair 
Rolled silence round him like a wall 
Around a tower brown and bare: 
His tree-like limbs, that spanned the stream, 



THE COMMON EARTH 65 

His slioulders, like an eagle's lair, 
Loomed, lichen-mottled: and the gleam 
Of glowworms streamed into the air 
From out the starlight of his stare. 

His body bristled thick with thorns 
And awns of wild-oats, like a hill ; 
And like the toiling of the IS^orns, 
His strength, though quiet, was not still. 
The twisted roots that were his feet, 
From which the waters ran a rill, 
Were made the temporary seat 
Of voices wild, batracKian-shrill, 
That all the darkness seemed to fill. 

The fingers tangled in his beard 
Were knotted like the boughs of trees ; 
And on them gaunt the owl appeared; 
The nightingale made melodies: 
And through the forest evermore 
There went a droning as of bees — 
The calling of Pan's heart, that poured 
Protection on the least of these — 
The forest-life that clasped his knees. 

FiKST Faun 

'T is well. And I, too, yesterday 
Was lucky. Think what I have seen ! 

Second Faun 
What was it ? Come ; no more delay ! 



66 the poet, the fool, and the faeries 

First Eaun 

But in wliat favor you have been! 
In Pan's own presence: and have learned 
Of Godhead's self ; no go-between ! 
While I have watched, all undiscerned, 
A young Leimoniad. 

Second Faun 

You mean 
The one you chased here o'er the gTeen ? 

First Faun 

The same. — Her breasts were tipped with 

coral : 
Her mouth and cheeks were each a rose : 
Her hair was golden-green, like sorrel 
That into starry blossom glows. 
As some slim bough the south wind blows 
She swayed beside the bramble thicket, 
Light-tilted on her tiny toes, 
Held in her hand a shrilling cricket. 

The grace of wind ; the poise of dew ; 
The wild alertness of a flower. 
Were in her limbs that glanced and blew 
Through blossoms like an April shower, 
That fills a rainbow-rounded hour. 
Before her danced a butterfly, 
Blue as the petal of a flower. 
Swayed by the import of her eye. 



THE COMMON EARTH 67 

As some wild plant within it closes 
All fragrance that its bloom reveals, 
Her breathing held a sense of roses, 
An attar such as rain unseals. 
And with such swiftness as one feels 
When breezes sweep one way the clover, 
She showed the wind her twinkling heels 
And tossing locks with bees a-hover. 

i^Tot mine to tell you where she went. 
Or how before my eyes she faded; 
How for a moment there she bent 
And from its bud a bloom unbraided; 
Or how the forest pool she waded. 
And from its ooze the lily lifted. 
Then with a glance the young bird aided. 
Who from its nest in fright had drifted. 

Second Faun 
But, brother, say, did you not follow ? 

First Faun 

IN'ay. Like a mist athwart the dawn 
She gleamed an instant in the hollow, 
Burned into beauty and was gone. 

Second Faun 

Had it been I, as I 'm a Faun ! 
I 'd caught her hair. 



68 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

FlKST Fauist 

ITay ; none might capture 
That nymph, for whom each flower put on 
Joj, and each leaf looked love and rapture. 

Second Faun 

Look where the crocus and amaracus, 
The cistus, cyclamen, and helichrys. 
Wave their sweet fingers sleepily at us — 

First Faun 
As if they wished to fling a good-night kiss. 

Second Faun 

Nay! nay! to point us where some young 

Nymph sleeps — 
Eut hark 1 who comes ? — What is it runs and 

leaps ? 

The ferns and underbrush to the right of them 
are violently agitated and a young Satyr 
leaps out. 

Satyr 

Brothers, have you beheld her ? — Passed she 

here ? — 
Far have I followed. 



THE COMMON EARTH 69 

FiEST Faun 

No one passed this way. 

Second Faun 
What was she like ? 

Satyr 

The dreamy close of day, 
With starlight in her eyes, and love and fear. 

First Faun 

Tell us about her. — Have you done her 

wrong ? — 
And to what race of nymphs does she belong? 

Satyr 

As I lay on a rock to-day 
And watched the sunset die away, 
A wood mist took on azure form, 
And gestured with a windy arm 
For me to follow through the gray 
Old forest to some place of charm, 
A place all wild with foam and spray. 

And there, within a murmuring dell. 
There always seemed to lie a spell: 
And, underneath a hollow stone, 
A water-dsemon seemed to moan. 
Condemned forever there to dwell 



70 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And sob in sorrow: wildly blown 
Its foaming hair about me fell. 

I raised the rock that held it bound, 
And, lo, it changed into a sound, 
A shape of music, viewless yet, 
Breathing of fern and violet: 
And from the sound a form unwound, 
A silvery thing, that twinkled wet, 
A rainbow winding her around. 

She on my eyelids kissed me thrice, 

And clasped me with white arms of ice; 

And gazing on her, light as loam 

My heart grew. — I would bear her home, 

This Naiad creature with wild eyes. 

Born of the flowers and the foam. 

And make her mine in other wise. 

But she like water swung and swayed ; 
Then like a ripple tripped the glade, 
A Limnad, or a Naiad thing. 
That fluttered now a rainbow wing, 
And now a prism'd shine and shade, 
Weaving a cirque, a bubble ring. 
Wherein my satyr heart was laid. 

And then, as softly still as moss 

Greening some drowsy rock across. 

She stole beside me: and I felt 

Her mouth on mine; her breath, that smelt 



THE COMMON EARTH 71 

Of fern and flower. — At a loss 

I leapt to seize. . . . She seemed to melt 

And vanish with wild locks atoss. 

And in her place — I rubbed my eyes — 
I saw a trailing wood mist rise ; 
An azure form, an irised gray, 
That seemed to motion me the way 
That I must follow. In this wise 
I hither came. Now tell me pray, 
Passed she this way, in some disgTiise? 

First Faun 

iJ^aught saw I save a topaz gleam 

Flit through these glades, a sunset beam. 

Satyr 
'T was she I know. But whither fled ? 

First Faun 

I know not. Haply overhead. 

Where, yonder, falls the mountain stream. 

Satyr 

Farewell. — Mayhap 't is as you said. 
There I perhaps may find my dream. 

He departs, leaping lightly into the shadows. 
The Fauns seat themselves at the foot of 
a gigantic oak tree, and stare steadily in 
the direction which the Satyr has taken. 



72 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Dusk deepens. A pipe is heard, far off 
in the forest; a lyric note — like that of 
a nightingale. 

First Faun 
"What does tlie flute say, brother ? 

Second Faun 

Dream, dream, dream. 

First Faun 

Tell me the dream it sings to you. I hear. 
But I am tired and only wish to sleep. 

Second Faun 

Sleep then ; and let me murmur it in your ear. 

Now I remember : it was but last year 

This thing befell me. Still the old trees keep 

A record of that happiness, I deem, 

And this dim moment brings its beauty near. 

First Faun 

Tell me of that lost happiness. Very dear 
It must have been, since now it sings so sweet. 
And brings the wildflowers crowding to your 
feet. 

Second Faun 

'T was in this selfsame forest. 

When Spring walked here and dreamed. 



THE COMMON EARTH 73 

And everywhere, in earth and air, 
The God of Beauty gleamed: 

'T was in this selfsame forest, 
Lost in the oldtime hills. 
When every rock the ladysmock 
And crocus blossom frills: 

'T was in this selfsame forest, 
Beneath a flowering thorn, 
I saw the side of a tree divide 
And a dryad presence born. 

A shape of emerald shadow, 
The sunlight arrowed through, 
Who left the print of her feet in mint 
And windflowers wet with dew. 

Her hair was corn-ripe amber, 

And golden-long as moss, 

And the woodland glanced into light and danced 

Whenever she made it toss. 

Her eyes were mountain azure, 
Star-sapphired, ray on ray. 
And wherever they fell a wildflower-bell 
Leapt blue beside the way. 

Her mouth, an apple-blossom. 

Her tongue, a rosy bee ; 

And whenever she spoke a bird awoke 

And a wing beat in the tree. 



74 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And I was fain to follow, 
Forever and a day, 
And make her mine as the eglantine 
Makes its the heart of May. 

And oft she turned with laughter, 

And oft she tossed her head ; 

And I followed on till the day was gone, 

And the sunset's rose burned red. 

And still I followed after, 
And still she fled afar. 
Till eve was done and, one by one, 
Night bloomed with star on star. 

And then once more she beckoned, 

And wild of heart drew near. 

And I felt her breast to my bosom pressed, 

And her wild-fern breath in ear. 

And what to me she whispered, 
And what my heart replied, 
The wild, deep soul of the solitude 
Dreamed, and the wind in the ancient wood 
Into starry being sighed. 

FiEST Fauist 

Silence. The reticent stream makes not a 

sound ; 
The forest sleeps and winds are hushed around. 



THE COMMON EARTH 75 

Slowly the moon, like some bright Oread, 

breasts, 
With pearl-white bosom bared, the vasty wood, 
And a pale moment on the mountain rests. 
Startled, astonished at the solitude. 
Silence. A bird stirs in the nested leaves, 
And the deep bosom of the forest heaves. 

Second Faun 

Murmur. Conspiracies of tempest pass. 
Swaying the forest as deer sweep the grass: 
-^olian raiment rustles ; and dim feet 
Of darkness dance, anticipating dreams 
That die before fulfilment; whispers meet 
And syllabled voices of the hills and streams. 
Murmur. The Night Wind passes. — Hark ! 

again. 
Far off, the caution of approaching rain. 

They stretch themselves at the foot of two 
gigantic trees, and sleep. Silence, save for 
that indefinable movement which is ever 
perceptible in a forest no matter how wind- 
less the night may be. It is as if invisible 
and ministering forces were assembling, 
above and below the earth, to perform cer- 
tain duties, the fructifying and finishing of 
fruit and fiower and leaf. The moon has 
risen and pours her pale light down on the 
recumbent forms of the Fauns. All is 



76 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Tnystery and moonlight and shadow. Dimly 
at first, and seemingly remote as lost an- 
tiquity, a voice is heard, murmurous with 
a mighty music, to which another voice, 
as remote and majestic, replies, making the 
forest-hush melodious with meaning. 

An Ancient Oak 

I heard a voice in the forest 

When the world was thrilled with morn; 

And its sound was the sound of waking 

And vision a moment born: 

And it said to mj heart : " Behold me ! — 

But let thy Dryad beware: 

For I am she, the deity, 

Whose beauty wakes despair." 

And full in the dawn I saw her, 

As Actseon saw of old. 

The perilous virgin presence, 

With gaze of green and gold: 

As Actseon saw I saw her, 

White-limbed where the morning wells, — 

And the hound-like sense of that insolence 

Has silenced my soul with spells. 

An Ancient Beech 

I heard a voice in the forest 
When the earth was hushed with eve; 
And its sound was the sound of slumber 
And dreams that none perceive : 



THE COMMON EARTH 77 

And it called to my soul : " Behold me ! — 

But let one look suflfice; 

For I am she, the divinity, 

Whom none shall gaze on twice." 

And I looked as looked Endymion, 

And saw her shimmering there, 

With limbs of pearl and mother-of-pearl, 

A crescent in her hair: 

As Endymion saw I saw her, — 

Like the moon on Tempo's streams, — 

And the light of her look and the joy I took 

Have blinded my heart with dreams. 

With the hushing of the voices of the trees, 
myriad insect sounds make themselves 
audible, 'mid which is heard the fine, fibril 
pipings of a syrinx; and suddenly, in a 
whirl of creatures of the forest. Pan, blow- 
ing fiercely on his pipes, dances down the 
glade. The Fauns stir in their sleep; rub- 
bing their eyes they leap to their feet and 
follow after him. Scene closes. 



THE COMMON EARTH 



Sounds of children at their play, 

Laughter dropping young and clear 

As dew from out the flowers of May: 

Murmured songs and wings in flight, 

When Summer takes with warmth the year; 

Far off thunder, never near, 

Dreamy with a strange delight. 

Drowsy with a thrill of fear. 

And the sound of rain at night — 

All are pleasant to the ear. — 

Then the wood-bird's plaintive call 

Overhead at evenfall; 

Insects singing in the weeds 

When the dusk is blue and still. 

And the full moon breasts the hill 

Like a sylvan from her rill; 

And the wind among the reeds 

Whispers, and they stir and fill 

Silence with a glimmering sound 

As of spirit things around. 

Twinkling mist-like o'er the meads, 

Spilling earth with dewy beads : 

Mellow music of the frog. 

Where the night her elf-lights leads, — 



THE COMMON EARTH 79 

Faeryland and dreams a jog 

With, their torches, drums and reeds, 

Dancing over brook and bog: 

Or where waters, bright with moon. 

Sigh of sleep a faery tune, 

Dreamy stir of boughs of June. — 

These are pleasant to the ear. 

Common ear ; 

Things the Earth's old heart holds dear. 



n 

The face of one we love near by. 

And friendship's smile to which we cleave 

Through life's long mutability, 

Are pleasant to the eye. — 

Gold-flickerings on an August eve 

In one rose-cloud the day may leave. 

In dominating majesty, 

Constant in its inconstancy, 

To hold the sunset and one star, — 

A lamp a sylphid swings afar 

In caverns dim of porphyry, 

Or grottoes pale of airy pearl ; — 

How pleasant to the eye ! — 

Cloud- Alps whose battlements unfurl 

Heat-liglitnings ; and along which fly 

The colors of a quiet sky. 

That lift the thought to things on high, 

Beyond this world that we perceive; 

And waken in the heart a sigh. 



80 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

With a sweet yearning still to grieve ; — 

Colors in a quiet sky ; — 

Cascades falling, gleam in gleam, 

Where the forest shadows dream, 

And the wildflowers, eye to eye, 

In the stream gaze slenderly: 

Firefly glimmers, amber-green. 

Over swards dim-elfed with dew, — 

Links that torch the faery queen 

On her bat-wing through the blue, 

When the crescent moon hangs new ; — 

Or, upon a winter's night. 

Glancing through a window-light, 

Seen afar, the fire's red glow. 

Elf-like dancing on the snow. 

Leading back to long-ago: — 

All are pleasant to the eye, 

Common eye; 

Things the old Earth holds us by. 



ni 

Childhood's breath, divine with health, 
And heavenly sweet as hydromel; 
Cheeks, whose roses blush in stealth 
And of the heart's young secret tell: 
Rain-odors blo\vn from fields of hay, 
]N^ew-reaped and warm, at close of day: 
And from the orchard, near the well. 
Fruit-musk of ripeness full that fell. 
With muffled thud, through heavy boughs; 



THE COMMON EARTH 81 

And honeyed odors, sweet-asway, 

Bee-clung and bruised, beside the way, — 

These are pleasant to the smell : 

And scents that sweeten an old house, 

That hugs its garden to its heart. 

And makes itself of it a part, 

Inseparably; the ancient spouse 

Of rose and pink and hollyhock, 

And many a spicy-smelling stock, 

Round which the moths in ermine dart 

When twilight calls them forth, and eve's 

First star looks trembling through the leaves, 

And up the lane come slow the cows, 

Tinlding a dim and mellow bell. 

What time the wood-smoke tells of home, 

And in the woods the leafy loam 

Breathes of the autumn soon to come : — 

These are pleasant to the smell. 

Common smell. 

Things that hold us like a spell. 

IV 

A child's soft hair beneath the hand. 

Through which the heart may understand 

The innocence which means so much 

To all we 've longed for and have planned ; — 

The thoughts, the faery fancies, — all 

That keeps our hearts in childhood's thrall. 

Subservient to and glad of such. 

A child's soft hair beneath the hand — 

How pleasant to the touch. 



82 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And intimate with love's demand ! 

Then water-lilies, plucked from cool 

Dark depths of some old woodland pool, 

Where all the shadows wild remain, 

Unmoving, dreaming steadily. 

As in dark eyes a mystery. 

Elusive with the beautiful: 

These are pleasant ; and the rain 

On orchard blossoms, sweet a-strain. 

Through which, when Spring comes windily, 

One seems to feel he clasps her there, 

Beauty, the hoiden, wild as fair. 

Her rose-leaf lips on his again, 

While 'thwart his face blows wet her hair : - 

And then, when dusk has dewed the heat. 

The feel of grass beneath the feet, 

As when in childhood brown and bare 

Along the summer we did fare. 

Without a fear, without a care : — 

The feel of grass ! — How young and sweet 

The feel of grass beneath the feet ! — 

Ah, how pleasant to the touch, 

Common touch! 

Things of earth that help us much. 



Water from a mountain spring 
Out of crystal bubbling: 
Wells, where wild the ferns are laced, 
And the mountain blossoms cling — 



THE COMMON EARTH 83 

Ah, how pleasant to the taste! 

Dew within a wildflower's throat, 

Round whose bloom the wild bees sing, 

Hummingbirds flash out and float : 

Sweetness, in which may be traced 

Spice of wildness, tang of clove. 

Color even, interwove, — 

These are pleasant to the taste. 

Wine and pungence of the grape. 

Crushed with purple on the lips; 

And such sap as Summer sips 

From a leaf-cup or a flower, 

Or the berry that she strips. 

Dewy at the morning hour. 

From her briar-tangled bower ; 

These are pleasant to the lips: 

Racy ripeness; drowsy drips; 

Honey of the bag o' the bee; 

And the cool acidity 

Of the sorrel: tastes that teased 

Childhood's palate ; sweet and sour ; 

All that once our playtime pleased: 

These are pleasant to the taste, 

Common taste, 

Things where earth its name hath traced. 



VI 



These are pleasures that to life 

Bring no strife, 

But content and quiet days. 



84 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

In God's praise; 

Making here, in many ways, 

Something even 

That approaches near to Heaven: 

These be common to all life, 

Man and wife; 

Common to all human hearts, — 

Hearts, whose tastes are clean and sane: 

Simple joys, that still obtain; 

That comprise within their parts 

Nothing which life may disdain; 

Simple joys, and pleasures plain, 

Common to all human hearts, 

Souls that know no modern arts, 

Mad desires that vex the brain, 

Futile, volatile, and vain 

As the castles built in Spain, 

Kingdoms on eidolon charts. . . . 

Things that help the human heart, — 

Common heart, — 

And are an undying part 

Of the life that 's clean and sane : 

Simple life and quiet heart — 

God be thanked that such remain! 



A FAERY BURIAL 

Scene: Midsummer Night; a wooded and moonlit 
hollow thro' which foams and falls a rocky and ferny 
stream. 

First Faery 

Bring the firefly for to light 
Lanterns of our funeral rite; 
Swing their glimmer to and fro 
So that Faeryland may know 
That a faerymaid lies low 

As a flower; 
One who tripped it but ago 
Merrily, oh, merrily, 

Hour on hour, 
In the moonlight's primrose glow, 
On the hilltop, on the lea, 

In the hollow, 
Light of heart as bird or bee : 
Who no more on hill or shore 
!Now shall trip it merrily, 
In the starlight and the moon 
To the cricket's creaking tune. 

Faeries, follow! 

0-hey! 0-hey! 

Elf and fay. 

Come away, come away! 
Follow, faeries, follow! 



86 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Second Faery 

Bring the glowworm with its torch 
Tor to light our funeral march ; 
Bring the beetle with his drone 
For to drowsily intone 
Pixy grief and pixy moan: 

From the thicket 

Bring the cricket, 
Who beneath a hollow stone 
Maketh sorrow all alone : 
Let him make for her a rhyme, 
To which all our thoughts shall chime, 

Sadly chime. 

In the hollow; 
While the flowers all keep time, 

Mournful time. — 

Faeries, follow! 

Eglantine, 

And Columbine, 

Troop in line ! 
Follow, faeries, follow! 

Third Faery 

Bring the harebell, hollow blue, 
Clappered with a bead of dew; 
Bring the wild-bean and the pea, 
Little bells of fragrancy. 
Let them ring a melody; 

Hang them o'er us 
On a web of witchery ; 



THE COMMON EARTH 87 

Thej her requiem shall be; 
Let them swing there solemnly, 

Solemnly ; 

Toll in chorus 
Dirges for her lying here, 

Lying here, 

In the hollow ; 
Who no more shall lean her ear 
To a flower ; there to hear 
Faery music, crystal clear 
In its heart of honey-cheer. 
Bear her now away from here 
On a petal for her bier: 

Faeries, follow! 

Larkspur, Phlox, 

From the rocks 
Twinkle down with loosened locks ! — 
Follow, faeries, follow. 

Fourth Faery 

Close her tiny coffin up, 
Fashioned from an acorn-cup; 
Dig her grave where she was bom 
Underneath the elfin thorn. — 
Ah, that fay should die forlorn ! 

Dawn should startle 
Her : who stopped and stayed till morn 
Gazing on a mortal-born 
Youth, whose hair was gold as corn, 
Who returned her love with scorn — 



88 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Foolish mortal ! 
He, too, now shall die forlorn, 

Love forlorn. — 
Would that she had turned ere day 

Trom the hollow ! 
Had the red cock, far away, 
Crowed to warn her, then a ray 
Had not pierced her heart, sweet fay ! 
Cruel morning so to slay ! 

Faeries, follow! 

Elf and sprite, 

Down the night. 
Follow, faeries, follow ! 

All Four Faeeies 

Let the hornet and the bee 
Sent'nel her virginity : 
Let the wasp and dragonfly 
Guard the spot where she doth lie, 
Where the hollow waters sigh 
And the glimmering winds go by, 
Bearing wild the owlet's cry. — 
l^one must know where she doth lie, 
!N"one must know that faeries die ! — 

Leave no token 
Here to draw a human eye : 
None must know that faeries die. — 

Leave unbroken 
Cups of moss and ferns and flowers, 

Wilding flowers, 

In the hollow ; 



THE COMMON EARTH 89 

Naught must point to what was ours, 
Faerymaid who once was ours. — 
Leave her now to moon and showers, 
That shall soon transmute her powers. . . . 

Come away! 

Faeries, follow! 

Come away ! 

The east grows gray ! — 
Leave her here to sleep alway: 
Come away ! 't is break of day ! 
Follow, faeries, follow! 



TWO FAERIES AND A FLOWER 

Scene: A moonlit forest of early Spring. 

First Faery 

Hither, sister, lend an ear: 
What is this which now I hear 
In this wildflower, frail and white. 
Glimmering in the April night : 
Is 't a dream it yields unto ? — 
Or the kisses of the dew ? 

Second Faery 

You a Faery, and not know 

What a flower thinks ! — Ho ! ho ! — 

That 's the ecstasy it feels 

At the beauty it reveals: 

'T is the thought within its heart, 

Of its buds and blooms a part. 

First Faery 

Sister, sweetheart, tell me now — 

What is this within the bough ? 

Cautiously it feels its way 

As if fearful to betray 

Some old secret ? — Is it mind, 

W^orking in the darkness blind? 



THE COMMON EARTH 91 

Second Faery 

Brother, you should know this thing: 
'T is the sense of blossoming: 
'T is the beauty there awaiting, 
And within its self debating 
^Vhen to push forth sap and scent, 
And again be evident. 

First Faery 

Sister, tell me: Do you know 
What is this that moves below 
In the earth ? — What gropes and feels 
Like a blind-worm, mole at heels ? — 
Is 't an ant that digs its home, 
Laboring under clay and loam ? 

Second Faery 

Brother, you should know this sound ! — 
'T is the seed beneath the ground ; 
Acorn splitting through its husk, 
Busy in the under dusk. 
Thrusting down its coil of root, 
And uptwisting green its shoot. 

First Faery 

Sister, here 's a cobweb thing, 
Fine as moonlight. Let us swing. — 
Listen ! — Are we near a nest ? — 
What was that I heard or guessed ? 



92 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

What keeps singing ? — Can it be 
Some wild bird I cannot see ? 

Second Faeky 

Brother, you have ears and eyes, 
Yet you are not over wise. — 
What you hear now, — listen well, — 
Is a bird within its shell 
Taking form: beneath its wings 
'T is its heart you hear that sings. 

FiEST Faeky 

Sister, see ! there goes a snail : 
On that fern it leaves a trail 
Silver gray. — Come ; get astride : 
Down this cobweb let us slide. — 
Tell me, sweetheart, is it true. 
Mortals oft come here to woo ? 

Second Faery 

Brother, once, — oh, long ago ! — 
Here I saw them walking slow : 
One a man and one a maid. 
There was starlight in the glade. 
Long I listened in the fern, 
But of them could nothing learn. 

First Faery 

Did he kiss her ? Did she sigh ? 
Or did they go silent by ? — 



THE COMMON EARTH 93 

Were their faces pale with bliss ? — 
Human love they say 's like this : 
Very sweet and sad and strange, 
Far beyond our faery range. 

Second Faery 

You have said it : They seemed sad, 
Happy too. A something had 
Entered in their lives denied 
To the faery-life that spied. 
Oh, how greatly did my heart 
Envy them love's human part ! 

First Faery 

Since you saw those lovers you 
Have become quite different too. 

Second Faery 

Sad and wise ? — It well may be : 
'T is the soulless part in me, 
That keeps crying night and day, 
" Would that I were not a fay ! " 

First Faery 
Do you love me ? 

Second Faery 
Ah, you know. 



94 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

First Faery 

When I kiss you thus and so, 
Sweetheart, are you sad or glad ? 

Second Faery 
.Very glad. — But they were sad. 

First Faery 

That 's because they 're mortal-born. . . . 
Come away ! Let 's dance till morn. 



WOODS AND WATERS 



On a Headland 

White sails and sunliglit on a sapphire sea, 
Whence, rank on rank, the battling billows come 
In emerald onslaught, plume on flying plmne, 
Trampling the shore with epic ecstasy. 
This is God's poem, that, with mystery 
And marvel of music, strikes man's spirit dumb, 
Addressing it, in voices of the foam. 
With thoughts and dreams of immortality. 
Long have I stood upon this rock, that brows 
Old Ocean's azure, and within its deep 
Beheld God's image, and divined such awe 
As one, admitted to his Father's house, 
Feels, when from innermost chambers to'ards 

him sweep 
The solenin splendors of invested Law. 

II 

The Forest 

Ghost-flower and mushroom, fungus many hued, 
Dot dim mosaics under pine and birch, 
That column huge this dim, mysterious church, 



96 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Aisled and clerestoried, which men call a wood. 
There ! — Is 't the shadow of a dream pursued ? 
Or deer that passes ? — What is yonder smirch 
Against the sunlight ? — Raven on its perch ? 
Or cowled doubt addressing solitude ? — 
A brooklet, brown as Autumn, in its flow 
Murmurs a prayer, as pilgrims might at march ; 
And when the wind, with sibilant silence shod, 
Lifts up its voice in organ worship, lo. 
Yon woodland vista, with its sunset arch, 
Seems a vast casement glorifying God. 

Ill 

The Mill-Stream 

The cardinal-flower, in the sun's broad beam, 

With sudden scarlet takes you by surprise. 

Its fiery star arresting heart and eyes. 

Like some strange spell beside this forest stream. 

The wood around is shadowy as a dream 

Of witchcraft, filled with unrealities : — 

You 'd hardly start if from those ferns should 

rise 
A satyr something with faun eyes agleam. 
And on the rocks the sound of drowsy foam 
Is like a voice of Legend, half asleep. 
Crooning a tale of vague antiquity; 
And with the sound you almost feel that some 
Strange thing will hap, — a hamadryad leap 
Between the boughs. Pan-hunted to the sea. 



THE COMMON EARTH 97 

IV 

The Old Saw-Mill 

Brown as a cairngorm, rimmed with golden 

woods, 
The clear brook glasses in an oval pond. 
Pouring confusion thence where great blooms 

blond 
The glimmering marge in weedj multitudes. 
Here where its ruin o'er the tumult broods, 
Moss-sunk and crumbling in a stony bond, 
ITo more its toiling wheels and saw respond 
To the swift water's urge whose sound intrudes. 
Here in the night, among the rocks and slime, 
So dark the stream, so lost in utter gloom, 
One could imagine that this skeleton form 
Still kept a memory of some perished crime, 
And saw forever down its roaring flume 
A wild face whirling in the rushing storm. 



Swamp-Led 

The old trees weep with mist ; the pitcher-plant, 
Thrusting its crimson blossom from a whorl 
Of purple-veined cups, that drip and curl. 
Leers like a lip in dreams of old romant. 
And, like the hair of some drowned girl, aslant 
The wild grass trails its darkness in a swirl 
Of long lagoon, wherethro', a sorry pearl, 
The aster glimmers, death's last ministrant. 



98 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

You almost fear to tread the swollen moss, 
That shags the rocks and pads the humps of 

trees, 
Lest, yawning suddenly, a pit of death 
Suck down the instant feet, to slide across 
A form of ooze, with hands of slime that seize. 
And, dragging slowly, clutch away the breath. 

VI 

The Swamp 

Hummocks and hags of moss and writhen roots. 
Fantastic forms, — the twisted torture-tools 
Of demon ISTature, — who, amid gaunt stools 
Of fungus, squats shrilling her insect flutes. 
Above, at dusk, the staring screech-owl hoots; 
The blue wisp wanders ; and among dim pools 
The horn'd moon searches where the darkness 

drools 
Toad-throated mockery that the distance mutes. 
The bladderwort and pitcher-flower bloat 
Strange blossoms here, fat-rooted in the ooze; 
And all the trees, that seem to await a sound, 
Lean stealthily over, watching yonder boat, 
Half -sunken there, fearful of what may use 
Its rotting oar when night comes, hushed, pro- 
found. 

VII 

The Place of Pools 

Here, though bluff weeds their mauves and pur- 
ples flaunt, 



THE COMMON EARTH 99 

And daylight spreads glad gold on grass and 

moss, 
Is something sinister, the soul 's at loss 
To understand or see as is its wont: 
Morosely old, a something, grim and gaunt, 
Stalks there invisible, as stalks across 
A ruin of legend, with gray hair atoss. 
Vague Superstition, making it his haunt. 
Above the sombre pools the gypsy Fall 
Leans, wild of look. ... Is that a crimson 

bough, 
Staining the water ? or a blur of blood ? 
That, as a mind a memory may recall, 
The place reshapes within itself somehow. 
Pointing a crime long buried in the flood. 

vin 

Vespertime 

The barberry reddens in the lanes; the vine 
Hangs a red banner where the wood-brook rills ; 
The cricket in the dropping orchard shrills. 
Piping the starry asters into line. 
The hoarse crow calls, winging from pine to 

pine, 
That lift their columns on a hundred hills, 
And sentinel the sea whose emerald stills 
Its heart's unrest, drinking the sunset's wine. 
Afar one sail, touched with the flame that flies. 
Glimmers and fades ; and in its place a mist 
Puts forth an arm embracing sea and shore: 



100 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And over ocean, where the long light dies, 
The harvest-moon orbs in the amethyst, 
Like some huge pearl round in a shell's blue 
core. 

IX 

Flower Pageant 

The orange and amber of the marigold, 

The terra-cottas of the zinnia flowers. 

With which the season every garden dowers, 

Light up their lamps of Autumn as of old. 

The salvia, flashing scarlet manifold. 

And aster, that its flame-like flowers showers, 

Seem bonfires builded to keep warm the Hours, 

Who huddle round them murmuring of the 

cold. 
Along the roads, in torques of gold, parades 
The Summer's pageant; every bloom a torch 
Borne in September's train, whose funeral goes 
With pomp of purple down these woodland 

glades. 
Where Melancholy sits beneath the larch 
Crumbling the crimson of the last late rose. 



The Wind from the Sea 

Mother of storm, all night it wailed and wept 
Outside the window; or, with wrath and roar, 
Beat with wild hands of terror at the door, 



THE COMMON EARTH 101 

Till on the hearth the frightened fire leapt, 

And from the sea a moaning answer swept, 

As if the ghosts of all the dead it bore 

Cried out in lamentation to the shore, 

That with its crags and pines grim council kept. 

But with the coming of the rose of dawn 

Its clamor ceased; and, mid the flowers and 

trees. 
It sighing went ; or, leaning, soft of tone 
iWhispered of beauty, till the soul was drawn, 
As by a ghost in drowsy draperies. 
Back, back to memories of the long-agone. 

XI 

Sea Lure 

Deep down I see her on a coral throne. 
Or in an emerald grotto, arched with foam. 
Combing green tresses with a rainbow comb, 
The kraken by her, watching, still as stone. 
Oft have I seen her in the ocean's moan 
Busy with shells beneath a nautilus dome; 
Or scattering pearls to lure the fishes home, 
A mermaid form no man shall make his own. 
l^ow like a siren, on some island hoar, 
Il^aked she sings of loves and lotus lands. 
And men who hear leave sweethearts and their 

wives; 
And now, a witch, from some Utopian shore, 
Beckoning, she calls, rich treasure in her hands. 
And to the quest men blindly give their lives. 



102 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 
XII 

Ocean Mists 

All day the mists crept stealthily from sea, — 
A silent army of invading white, 
That planted glimmering banners on the height, 
And blotted out each rock and hill and tree: 
Far as the eye could see, mysteriously, 
Wild tents arose ; it seemed that all the coasts 
Of all the world had sent their specter hosts 
To 'siege the land which Autumn held in fee. 
The landscape, hanging a disconsolate head, — 
Tears and dejection in its attitude, — 
Dripped, mourning for the Summer that was 

^ gone; 
While through the garden, where the flowers 

lay dead, 
A phantom moved, of melancholy mood, — 
Trailing the ghost of beauty, dead at dawn. 

XIII 

A Forest Place 

Like some sad room, devoted to the dead. 
Dim with the dust of love-begotten hours, 
Where dull decay sits, and gray memory lowers, 
And sorrow stands beside death's ancient bed: 
Where dark, above, the filmy form of dread 
Spins webs; and in a dusty comer cowers 
Love's fragrant dream, among forgotten flowers, 
With broken lute, and bowed unhappy head : 



THE COMMON EARTH 103 

So seems the Year in this old forest place, 
Among Fall's tarnished purples and torn golds : 
The dedicated loveliness of woe 
Brooding forever on Joy's perished face, 
The happiness that passed, where none beholds, 
With Youth and Spring into the Long- Ago. 

Manchester-iy-the-Sea, Mass., 
September, 1911. 



A PATH TO THE WOODS 

Its friendship and its carelessness 

Did lead me many a mile, 

Through goat's-rue, with its dim caress, 

And pink and pearl-white smile ; 

Through crowfoot, with its golden lure, 

And promise of far things, 

And sorrel with its glance demure 

And wide-eyed wonderings. 

It led me with its innocence, 

As childhood leads the wise. 

With elbows here of tattered fence, 

And blue of wildflower eyes; 

With whispers low of leafy speech, 

And brook-sweet utterance; 

With bird-like words of oak and beech, 

And whistlings clear as Pan's. 

It led me with its childlike charm. 

As candor leads desire, 

lij'ow with a clasp of blossomy arm, 

A butterfly kiss of fire; 

Now with a toss of tousled gold, 

A barefoot sound of green, 

A breath of musk, of mossy mold. 

With vague allurements keen. 



THE COMMON EARTH 105 

It led me with remembered things 

Into an oldtime vale, 

Peopled with faery glimmerings, 

And flower-like fancies pale ; 

Where fungous forms stood, gold and gray, 

Each in its mushroom gown, 

And, roofed with red, glimpsed far away, 

A little toadstool town. 

It led me with an idle ease, 

A vagabond look and air, 

A sense of ragged arms and knees 

In weeds grown everywhere ; 

It led me, as a gypsy leads, 

To dingles no one knows, 

iWith beauty burred with thorny seeds, 

'And tangled wild with rose. 

It led me as simplicity 

Leads age and its demands, 

With bee-beat of its ecstasy, 

And berry-stained touch of hands; 

With round revealments, puff-ball white, 

Through rents of weedy brown, 

And petaled movements of delight 

In roseleaf limb and gown. 

It led me on and on and on. 
Beyond the Far Away, 
Into a world long dead and gone, — 
The world of Yesterday; 



106 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

A faery world of memory, 
Old with its hills and streams, 
Wherein the child I used to be 
Still wanders with his dreams. 



THE DREAMS OF SUMMER 

Now drowsy Summer takes the world 

And rocks it in her arms, 
A poppy flower, it seems, soft curled 

Upon her breast that warms. 
Among the fields with Indolence, 

In gypsy gown of ragged gold. 
She walks ; or by some tangled fence 

Sits with the Dreams of old. 

Upstarting when, in rebel red. 

The Sunset pitches camp 
On uplands of the heaven o'erhead, 

She lights her signal lamp. 
The moon, she swings so all may see 

The twilight way which she must take, 
Putting to bed the bird and bee. 

And life in field and brake. 

When Night leads from the folded hills 

Its clan of gypsy dreams. 
Upon her cricket-flute she shrills. 

And scatters glowworm gleams; 
Then slips the moon-moth from its weed 

On pearl-orbed wings of seal and tan, 
And calls the wild Stealth forth to feed 

That lives in fear of man. 



108 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

She drives the warm winds through the trees, 

And thuds the earth with fruit; 
The tumbled ripeness, no one sees, 

Smells bruised beneath the foot: 
She herds the sky's cloud-fleeces white 

On acres of the star-flowered blue, 
And sows the dusk with firefly-light. 

And plants it with the dew. 

Dim in the East, w^hen stars grow wan. 

On housewife knees she kneels, 
And blows the hearthfire ash of dawn 

Which red her face reveals: 
And then down-lying, morning's rose 

Stuck in a cloud of tawny locks, 
She dozes in the garden close 

Among the hollyhocks. 

Falls fast asleep; then, half aware. 

Beside the sleepy stream, 
Stoops, and her hot face in its hair 

Startles her like a dream: 
And pale with fear she turns away. 

And to her hounds, the wood-winds, calls, 
Who, mad with haste, set all asway, 

Where swift her shadow falls. 

And from the hills on lightning feet 
Her whippers-in, the thunders, race, 

WTiile through a veil of rain and heat 
Earth shows a frightened face : 



THE COMMON EARTH 109 

Till deep within the cloud-walled West 
Eve lights a witch's windowpane, 

Where shapes, in gold and scarlet dressed, 
Show where she dreams again. 



HARVESTING 



It 's — Hey, for tlie dell, oh ! when harvest is 

yellow. 
And orchards hang mellow and appled each 

tree: 
It 's — Leave the ripe acres, the reapers and 

rakers, 
And all the haymakers and wander with me, 
O girl, like a poppy full blown for the bee! 
With cheeks like brown berries. 
And lips like wild cherries. 
And beauty, I swear it, far sweeter to see 
Than Summer in blossom, deep Summer in 

blossom. 
With clover-sweet bosom and heart of a bee. — 
It 's — Hey, for the dell, oh ! and tryst by the 

tree. 

II 

And what will they think, oh! when sunset is 

pink, oh! 
And little stars wink, oh ! like buds in the blue ? 
When into the gloaming we two go a-roaming, 
Like birds that are homing, when fireflies are 

few, 



THE COMMON EARTH 111 

O girl, like a wildrose full blown for the dew: 
With hair like the twilight's, 
And eyes like dusk's high lights, 
And body a garden that Love wanders through, 
A garden of roses, moon-lilies and roses. 
Whose beauty uncloses to kiss of the dew. — 
Ah, what will they think, oh ! those stars in the 
blue? 



SABBATH 

I 

All is repose, 
Where swaths of summer, laid in hay-sweet 

rows, 
Make musk the fields through which the path- 
way goes 
Unto a woodland-wall where cedars dream, 
And roses shred their petals, one hy one: 
Where, slumbrous silver, leaps a little stream, 

Making a murmurous glinuner in the sun, 
And on a log, a slender streak of gray 

Against the noon, a small green heron stands, 
Moveless as meditation. — Far away 

Dreams seem to camp among the meadow- 
lands. — 

Rest rules the day. 

II 

Night comes to woo. 
Mid heaps of clovered fragrance, cool with dew, 
And fields of flowers a gateway leads into. 
Under the shadow of great chestnut trees 
Where moonlight waits, a presence, that 
awakes 



THE COMMON EARTH 113 

Cricket and katydid and sleeping breeze, 
And shakes the attar from the wildrose 
brakes : 
And now the darkness opens many an eye 

Of firefly gold; and gowns herself in white, 
Far-following veils of mist ; and with a sigh, 
Voluptuous-drawn, resigns her to delight. — 
Love rules the night. 



DESERTED 

The old house leans upon a tree 
Like some old man upon a staff: 

The night wind in its ancient porch 
Sounds like a hollow laugh. 

The heaven is wrapped in flying clouds, 
As grandeur cloaks itself in gray : 

The starlight flitting in and out, 
Glints like a lauthorn ray. 

The dark is full of whispers. Now 

A fox-hound howls : and, through the night, 

Like some old ghost from out its grave, 
The moon comes, misty white. 



THE WOOD STREAM 

As night drew on, around the quiet stream 
The wildflower heads leaned closer, and the 

trees 
Muttered a little, as if half in dream; 
And through the wood, trailing sweet robes, a 

breeze, — 
Like some dim elfin gathering perfume, — 
Faltered a moment ere it sank in gloom. 

Then all was still — except that one small stone 
Protested, whimpering, in the water's way; 
Petulant, resistant, where the cascade shone. 
Wrapping its tumult in a gown of spray. 
Like some pale mother who would put to rest 
Her child, a starbeam brooching her bright 
breast. 

More careful of the nest upon its arm. 

That hugged the wild-bird, seemed each bush 

and tree: 
And in its heart, securing it from harm, 
Each wildflower seemed to clasp more close its 

bee: 
And even Earth with more protection seemed 
To hide the things that in her bosom dreamed. 



116 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Save for the stream, to which the hush gave 

heed, 
And little winds that sighed and, whispering, 

rose. 
And donned their rustling robes with infant 

speed, 
Tiptoe, regardful of the wood's repose, 
The night was still. — And then, as if aware 
That all was ready, radiance filled the air. 

Godiva-like, the moon rode into sight. 
Cautious, yet confident that no one sees ; 
The naked moon, astonishing the night. 
Brightening the thoroughfares of all the trees: 
Holding her course unfaltering and sure. 
Knowing herself as beautiful as pure. 



WORM AND FLY 

Unseen the lizard, in reptilian night, 
Evolves the hole wherein are placed its eggs, 
Small, yolky oblongs of membraneous white, 
Seed-like that put forth legs. 

Beneath the stone, that lies where long it fell. 
The pale grub sleeps until the Summer sings, 
Then, blindly groping, splits its locust shell 
And whirls rejoicing wings. 

Upon the oak bough, swelling with the sap, 
The gray-green gall rounds, like a wart, its 

sphere, 
Wherein the woodfly's whining sting shall tap, 
And bore its thin way clear. 

I stand and wonder, pausing mid the trees, 
And question what they purpose — worm and 

fly;, 

Unbeautiful; and made, it seems, to tease, 
And weary ear and eye. 

Does ^N^ature blunder into forms ? Does she 
Count these as true expressions, — fly and 
worm? 



118 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And Man ? — perhaps her one mistake is he — 
Slow-toiling out his term. 

Hag-lights and fox-fire and the wisp that flies — 
Are they not parts too of great Ils^ature's 

scheme ? — 
'T is flame that shows where buried treasure 

lies, 
And night, that makes it gleam. 



THE OLD BAYOU 

The rosy egret, Sunset, 

Wings up the moss-graj skies; 
And creeping under clouds, the Dusk, 

A burning beetle, dies. 
Eound cypress, oak, and willow 

A raucous music cries, 
And from the water, dark beneath. 

The mist's white shadows rise. 
And glimmering down the bayou, 

With starlight-twinkling eyes. 
The Twilight oars her blue canoe 

Pale-prowed with fireflies. 
Her owlet call the Darkness 

Utters in vague surmise; 
Then with a sibilant voice afar 

The bayou Hush replies. 
Now Night the cricket hinges 

Of her old doorway tries. 
And stealing through the House of Dreams 

Sleep to the silence sighs. 
Wide to the dark one window 

She flings, and from it flies 
A moth — the round, white, wandering 
Moon, 

Whose ghostly image lies 



120 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Upon tlie bayou's bosom 

In strangely shimmering wise — 

A phantom barque with a phantom maid, 
Who a phantom paddle plies. 



BUTTERFLIES 

Feeebootees of the sunlight, blue and black, 
Glimmering with gold you go your velvet ways 
From flower to flower, from weed to weed, and 

back, 
Demanding toll of all the honeyed days, 
Nature accommodating all your needs, 
As once she did when with unaltered face 
She fed the worm as now the fly she feeds. 

The worm ! how long since you forgot the worm 
Unsightly that you were ? the chrysalis 
Your life endured; the dark, prenatal term 
Of your existence, wherein naught of bliss 
Or beauty was. — Now out of night returned, 
Pinioned and plumed, your life is one long kiss 
On Summer's langTiid lips for which you 
yearned. 

This was your hope in darkness, where your 

dreams 
Were all of wings and rainbows, manifold, 
Which transformation touched and changed to 

gleams. 
Materializing their ethereal gold, 
That burst your prison house and rose to range 
With joy, forgetting all the life of old ; 
The new accepted as if nothing strange. 



122 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Go your glad ways of fragrance and of light, 
Following the dream, forevermore that lures, 
Beyond the shadow of immortal night 
That holds the soul : the dream, through which 

endures 
Hope which hath led the world for centuries, — 
The hope within the heart which still assures 
The soul of many immortalities. 



DRAGONFLIES 

You, who put off the water-worm, to rise. 
Reborn, with wings ; who change, without ado, 
Your larval bodies to invade our skies. 
What Merlin magic disenchanted you. 
And made you beautiful for mortal eyes ? 

Shuttles of summer, where the lilies sway 
Their languid leaves and sleepy pods and 

flowers. 
Weaving your colored threads into the day, 
Knitting with light the tapestry of hours, 
You come and go in needle-like array. 

Now on a blade of grass, or pod, as still 
As some thin shred of heaven, motionless, 
A point, an azure streak, you poise, until 
You seem a figment Summer would express 
But fails through utter indolence of will. 

Then suddenly, as if the air had news, 
And flashed intelligence of faery things. 
You vibrate into motion, instant hues, 
Searching the sunlight with diaphanous wings. 
Gathering together many filmy clues. 



124 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Clues, that the subject mind, in part, divines, 
Invisible but evidenced through these : — 
The mote, that goldens down the sun's long lines, 
The web, that trails its silver to the breeze. 
And the slow musk some fragile flower imtwines. 

Could we but follow ! and the threads unwind, 
Haply through them again we might perceive 
That Land of Faery, youth left far behind. 
Lost in the wonder-world of Make-Believe, 
Where Childhood dwells and Happiness-of- 
Mind. 

And, undelayed, far, far beyond this field 
And quiet water, on the dream-road trail, 
Come on that realm of fancy, soul-concealed. 
Where we should find, as in the faery tale. 
The cap through which all Elfland is revealed. 



A WILDFLOWER 

How may my art proclaim thee ? 
Or half thy grace express ? 
What word is there to name thee 
And all thy loveliness? 
Thou, who beside me swayest, 
Within this woodland old, 
Too much to me thou sayest 
With thy dim blue and gold. 

Beside this mossed rock growing, 
Where wild bees dream and drone, 
Thy delicate shadow throwing 
Upon the gray-green stone ; 
Of something thou remindest, 
Some far thing of the soul, 
A look when love was kindest, 
A touch that did console. 

The bird above may know it. 

So pensively it sings, 

But never priest or poet, — 

The thought that with thee springs. 

Part of the heart's elation 

Is what thou dost express. 

That shrinlcs from ostentation. 

And merely loveliness. 



126 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Ah, could my words define it, 
Or lend that thought a name, 
Then all men might divine it, 
And thou wert sure of fame. 
But words speak nothing clearly ; 
And men who read may say — 
Oh, 't was a wildflower merely 
He found beside the way. 



THE GHOST FLOWER 

(The Indian Pipe) 

What freak of faery, fancy of the night, 
Compelled you hither, drowsy with the dew ? 
Taking my heart with weirdness, like the flight 
Of moth or owlet through the noonday blue, 
O flower of phantoms, — slender as a light 
That flits at haunted casements, pale of hue, — 

A finger white 
Lifting, mysterious, on the startled view. 

Decay and dampness mothered you, while death 
Sat Jby and glowered under threatening skies. 
Breathing you full of his autumnal breath. 
Staring you white with winter of his eyes: 
O type of everything which perisheth. 
Corruption hidden 'neath a fair disguise, 

Whose Beauty saith, 
" Behold a symbol for the worldly wise." 

O flower of death, so like, yet not a flower ! 
O form of fungus, are you kin to those ? 
Did God conceive you in some lonely hour. 
Uncertain yet of what He did propose ? 
A half -formed thought, abandoned; without 
dower 



128 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Of fragrance; whence grew out the perfect rose 

Of Eden's bower, — 
Whose counterpart in every garden grows. 

A semblance merely, flung forgotten here, 
Eidolon-like, disclaimed of all your kin, 
Pointing a phantom finger at the Year, 
Or with a twisted hand, as white as Sin, 
Clutching at silence, who a hollow ear 
Leans to the earth on which the rain beats thin. 

While shapes of fear 
And shadows wander, dream-wise, out and in. 

Dreams from the world of gnomes, where mys- 
teries dwell. 
You conjure forth: — I seem to see them stand, 
Fantastic round you: up and do^^m the dell 
Their vague enchantments move, pale hand in 

hand. — 
Would that I too such magic could compel. 
And, so admitted of Night's Erl-King band, 

Could break the spell 
That bars the gateway into Elfinland. 



AUTUMN STORM 

Topping the hills the oaks, 
Black on the sunset's fire, 
Draw, with terrific strokes, 
Gates as it were of Tyre, 
Burning; while, like a page 
Out of some tragedy, 
Heaven grows dark with rage, 
Pregnant with things to be. 

Out of the :N'orth the Wind 
Gallops with all his hordes, 
Hun-like, and gaunt and blind, 
Swooping the Earth with swords : 
Night, on her tower of cloud. 
Lets her wild beacon flare; 
Then, through the darkness loud. 
Arrows rain everywhere. 

Wrapped in their mantles wide, 
Cloaks of the mist that stream. 
Onward the Hours ride, 
Forward with never a gleam: 
On through the forest, on. 
Over wild hill and plain, 
AH the long night till dawn 
Trample the troops of rain. 



"I HEAR THE WOODLANDS 
CALLING " 

I HEAE the woodlands calling, and tKeir red is 

like the blare 

Of trumpets in the air, 
Where rebel Autumn plants her tents and 

crowns her gypsy hair. 

I hear her beauty calling glad, with crimson 

and with gold, 

As oft it called of old; 
And I must forth and greet her there and clasp 

her close and hold. 

As yesterday, again to-day, my heart will run 

to her. 

The gypsy wanderer. 
Through scarlet of the berry-pod and purple of 

the burr. 

The vines that vision forth her cheeks shall tell 

me where she lies. 

Soft gazing at the skies ; 
And I will steal upon her dreams and look into 

her eyes. 



THE COMMON EARTH 131 

The sumach that repeats her lips shall tell me 

where she smiles, 

Who still my heart beguiles, 
And I will speak her face to face and lounge 

with her for miles. 

A riot and a tangle there, a bhir of gold and 

gray; 

She surely went this way — 
Or, so it seems, the maples cry, the cloudy asters 

say. 

Oh, I must up and strike the trail, that often 

I have gone, 

At sunset and at dawn. 
Where all the beauty of the world puts all her 

splendor on. 

I hear her bugles on the hills ; I see her banners 

blowing. 

And all her campfires glowing, -^ 
The campfires of her dreams, — and I — I must 

be up and going. 



DOLOROUS NIGHT 

All night long I heard it raining, 

And the trees 

To the flowers, still remaining. 

Kept complaining 

Without cease. 

All night long I heard a weeping 

As of grief, 

While the autumn wind kept sweeping 

Branch and leaf. 

All the night I heard a crying. — 

Was it rain ? — 

Or a sorrow trailing, flying, 

Dimly sighing 

At my pane? 

All the night I heard a beating 

As of wings. 

And a voice that kept repeating 

Many things. 

At my window, that was shuttered, 

Once the wind 

Tapped ; — or was 't a leaf that fluttered, 

Darkly muttered, 

At my blind ? — 



THE COMMON EARTH 133 

Was it Autumn ? — Or, unsheathing 
Black his blade, 

Death ? who stood there darkly breathing 
Where Night swayed. 

Was 't the ghost of some departed 

Love, long lost ? 

Driven like the leaves that darted, 

Broken-hearted, 

Tempest-tossed ? — 

All its wild hair dripped November, 

Dark and wet. . . . 

What it wailed the woods remember — 

I forget. 



THE CALL OF THE HEART 

Oh, my heart is on the moorland, on the old 

land, on the poor land. 
Where it hears the heather calling and the gorse 

shake with the bee! 
Oh, it 's there I would be lying, with the clouds 

above me flying. 
And blue beyond the blackthorn tops a peep of 

purple sea. 

Oh, my heart is on the moorland, on the old 

land, on the shore land, 
Where the gypsy-bands of dreams pitch camp, 

the dark-eyed Romany! 
Oh, it 's there I would be dreaming, with the 

sunset o'er me streaming. 
With her beside my campfire there whose voice 

still calls to me. 

With her, the light-foot maiden, with her eyes 
so vision-laden, 

That little sister to the flowers, and cousin to the 
bee: 

Oh, would that we were going against the hill- 
wind's blowing 

To meet the pla^nnates that she knew, that child 
of Faery. 



THE COMMON EARTH 135 

Oh, would that we were sitting beneath the 

wild-fowl's flitting, 
Her dark eyes looking into mine as stars look in 

the sea, 
While, dinj. as autumn weather, and sweet as 

scents of heather, 
Our campfire trails its smoke of dreams like 

mists along the lea. 

Oh, heart, there on the moorland, the old land, 
and the poor land ! 

You 're breaking for the gypsy love you never- 
more shall see : 

The little light-foot maiden, the girl all blossom- 
laden. 

Departed with her people and the dreams that 
used to be. 



OLDTOWN 

Harness up the old horse; 

Harness up the shay: 
We are bound for Oldtown 

Many miles away. 
If arrived at middle night, 

In the wintry weather, 
We shall find the old folks 

Waiting up together. 

There the heart is home, dear ; 

There the rooms are wide; 
Rafters bright with firelight; 

Summer-sweet inside. 
There, though backs be bowed with years, 

Forms are straight in seeming ; 
And beneath the locks of age 

Youth's deep eyes are gleaming. 

There the dooryards blossom 

With the oldtime flowers ; 
Pansy, pink and mignonette. 

Fair as childhood's hours. 
Lamps of lost Aladdin days, 

There the morning-glories 
Hang; and roses grow the gold 

Of old faery stories. 



THE COMMON EARTH 137 

There the songs we loved once, 

And the tales we told, 
Haunt the hearths and chambers 

With the words of old. 
There, though lips be sad and thin, 

Worn with toil the fingers, 
Kindness keeps them beautiful 

With a love that lingers. 

Harness up the old horse ; 

Harness up the shay: 
We must get to Oldtown 

Ere the close of day. 
If the road be long, be long. 

And the Inns — not any. 
In the town is rest, my dear, 

And good friends a many. 



THE OLD PLACE 

Sassafras grows at its gate, and veins 

Of lichen mottle its stones with stains ; 

And there, where its porch hangs low in view, 

High on its beams the swallows brood : 

Its garden blossoms, all poppy strewed, 

With oldtime flowers of every hue. 

The old spring calls where the hollow drips 
And still invites with its mossy lips, 
Lullabyed to by the sleepy pines, 
Within whose whisper the woodchuck steals. 
And along whose twilight the fox reveals 
An instant's glimmer when noonday shines. 

It is a place that I dream of oft : 

I see the light in its log-built loft; 

The wasps that plaster their cells of clay; 

The weaving spider; and, bubble-blue. 

The sky, that sweeps with its swallow through 

Its open window, high-heaped with hay. 

The martins circle its roof in flocks. 
And twitter its chimneyed martin-box; 
The redbird builds in the trumpet-vine, 



THE COMMON EARTH 139 

A living crimson that flecks the trees, 
That shade the shed where the borer-bees 
Whine at their holes in the planks of pine. 

I dream of the way that takes me where 
The creek in the woods has made a stair, 
A rock-stair, roofed with the boughs of beech; 
And I see the pool where the minnow shines, 
And dragonflies flash their jewelled lines. 
And pale pond-lilies loll just in reach. 

And barefoot there, in torn straw-hat, 
His dog beside him, where oft he sat, 
I see a boy in the glimmering day 
Dropping an idle line: may be 
Floating a boat of the bark of a tree — 
A boy, who has never gone away. 

The boy, who haunts that oldtime place, 
With his sun-tanned feet and freckled face; 
The lad, who follows at dusk the cows, 
As oft and oft in the days gone by; 
The boy, brown-haired, who once was I, 
Who lives in dreams of that oldtime house. 



THE PATH TO YESTERDAY 

There 's a path, that leads to Yesterday — you 

know it; 
A rambling path of flowers and perfume : 
You remember how the wild grapes overgrow it 
To the house upon the hilltop deep in bloom. 

There 's a path that leads to Yesterday through 

flowers, 
Where the veery is a voice of wandering song; 
Where the cricket snaps its faery whip for 

hours, 
And a barefoot boy goes whistling all day long. 

There 's a path that leads to Yesterday through 

dingles, 
Mossed and ferny, where the wood pool is an 

eye, 
And the sunbeam is a twinkle there that mingles 
With the gladness of a girl that dances by. 

There 's a path that leads to Yesterday, 

a-glimmer 
With the pearl and purple footsteps of the Dusk ; 
Where the first star leaps and flashes, like a 

swimmer. 



THE COMMON EARTH 141 

On the violet verge of twiliglit washed vs^ith 
musk. 

There 's a path that leads to Yesterday that 's 

haunted 
With the shadows of old memories of bliss, 
And the gho: ts of loves that roamed there once, 

who couiited 
Every moment by a heart-beat or a kiss. 

Hark — the path that leads to Yesterday is 

calling ! — 
Don't you hear it? how it calls through many 

things ! 
Through its roses, like the memories now falling, 
And the dream-like nestward fluttering of wings. 

On the path that leads to Yesterday we 've 

started ! — 
Hear it calling with its many whippoorwills ! — 
Like the voices of old Happiness departed, — 
Through the darkness, where the moon rests on 

the hills. 



AGE 

Dust and fatigue; and down Life's long hot 

road 
Age and his oxen, groaning with their load, 
Pass creakingly: the ever-urging goad 
Of want compelling to what unkno\vn end? 
What though the fields around be ploughed and 

sowed ; 
The orchards burdened till they break and bend, 
Meagre for him the harvest God will send. 
And what he reaps haply he may not spend. 

What eyes are sadder than the eyes of Age! 
That have but labor for their heritage. 
And loneliness and loss for toil's long wage; 
That by the rushlight Faith still try to read 
Their Book of Patience, dimly, page by page. 
But find no comfort there that helps their need, 
But weariness ever; nothing sweet to feed 
Heart's hope upon, or any love to lead. 

I often think that if God could behold 

The sadness here of all Earth's poor and old, 

He would not sit so calm as we are told : 

If He could hear the souls that pray in vain. 



THE COMMON EARTH 143 

The hearts that perish, crjing in the cold, 
And of bereavement all the wailing train. 
His hand would hush the archangelic strain, 
And Heaven sit bowed with pity for Earth's 
pain. 



DROUTH 

Beside tlie dried-up streams the Summer walks 
In ragged gray and tattered green and gold, 
Dragging her slattern feet from wood to wold, 
O'er every field that white a pathway chalks: 
And evermore unto herself she talks, 
In insect accents, strident, manifold. 
Stinging the heat with weariness untold, 
Her scrawny voice dry as the wayside stalks. 
Beside the pool, where late she leaned and saw 
Her lily bosom bared to lure the bee. 
She leans again, beholding but a pod, 
A withered disc, near which the crow's harsh 

caw 
Seems but the echo of the mockery 
In her own heart, that laughs at Man and God. 



BESIDE THE ROAD 

Who has not walked with loneliness, 
And leaned upon the arm of grief, 
Along the road of Heart's Distress, 
Mourning that joj is brief ? 

The paths appointed us to take 
Are not the ways that we would choose ; 
The guide-post reading " Duty's Sake " 
Is one we cannot lose. 

But they, who kneel awhile and pray, 
Or muse with ISTature upon God, 
May find, beside the lonely way. 
The faery goldenrod 

Of hope, whose light makes bright the road, 
And beautifies the lonely hours, 
And turns the sorrow of our load 
To thoughts, like shining flowers. 



THE HAIL STORM 

Along the hill's huge back, 
Above the crouching terror of the plain, 
Tempest, imperial, crowned with blazing black. 
Trails far the thunderous purple of his train. 
Tattered with fringes of the streaming rain. 

Vast forces seem at council: genie shapes 
And elementals changing, form on form ; 
Now from the swarm one awful Deev escapes, 
And with a lightning gesture lifts its arm, 
Shouting a word of storm. 

And all the earth sits cowering: not a sound: 
The forest's shoulders shudder, swing and sway : 
Then, like some monster thing that quests 

around. 
The Afrit wind leaps on the driven day. 
And wrapped in rain and hail rides his re- 
sistless way. 



CHAOS AND ORDER 

Shadows ; and outposts of the rebel !Night, 
And muttered whisperings of conspiracy: 
Deep in the west a flicker of ominous light, 
As if a torch had signaled suddenly ; 
Involving heaven and earth in anarchy: 
Then, high above the world, vast wings in flight 
And trumpet-thunder of Night's empery. — 
Chaos and Night, — form upon demon form, — 
Riding the exultation of the storm. 

Glimmer; and rumors of confederate Dawn: 

Aerial tumult as of sylphid feet: 

Far ranks of radiance, on the peaks withdrawn, 

Confronting Darkness, who, in wild retreat, 

Flies from the leveled glory, fiery beat 

Of swords about a golden gonfalon. 

And sapphire shields, and spears of blinding 

heat. — 
Light, and its ordered cohorts, ray on ray, 
And the fierce phalanx of resistless Day. 



THE GRAY LAND 

The crawfish builds its oozy chimneys here 

Of pallid clay; 
The shadowy wood around is sad and sere; 

The sky is gray: 
The mossy waters wearily creep 
Dim through a land that seems asleep, 
Or lost in old remembering deep 

Of some forgotten day. 

The ovals of the acorns, split with rain, 

That sprout and spread, 
Splash mud and moss with many a sinister 
stain, 

Faint streaks of red : 
"No sound upon the hush intrudes 
Except the drip of wet, that broods 
Like some old crime upon the woods. 

And holds them grim with dread. 



SILK O' THE WEED 

Where, under boughs of willow-gray, 
By banks tbe blades began to pierce, 
And leaflets pricked up pearly ears 
To hear the things birds had to say: 

I saw her standing, reticent 

As Love that fears to be denied, 

Shy, wildflower-f aced and wildflower-eyed, 

Spring, 'mid the pods the wind had rent: 

Spring, in her robe of cloud and sun, 
Wafting, with lips of redbud blush, 
Into the air's attentive hush. 
Assurance of the love begun: 

White kisses for the trees and grass. 
They streamed in promise everywhere. 
And with them, bright with blowing hair, 
A silken breath, I saw her pass. 



THE PLOUGHMAN 

The broken soil, made damp with rain, 
Smells good along the bramble lane. 
Broad in the afternoon the fields, 
Conscious of every seed they hold, 
Seem thinking of the harvest-yields, 
That soon will turn their brown to gold. 

The coultered earth, the furrowed loam, 
Dreams of the coming Harvest-Home : 
And, dreaming, breathes of unborn hay, 
Of briar and daisy, wheat and weed. 
That shall bedeck it on that day 
When men shall come and give it heed. 

And he who guides the plunging plough 
Across the soil's dark surface now, 
What dream is his if any dream ? — 
'Not one that aims at loveliness. 
But plenty — like a golden stream — 
To make his need and toil far less. 

His toil and need ! that circumvent 

The soul, for which the dream was meant. 

That lifts the man above the brute. 

And frees from bonds of circumstance : — 

But it 19 toil that gives us fruit. 

And need is not a thing of chance. 



DUSK AND THE WHIPPOORWILLS 

The wet gold of the rainy dusk 

DieS over woods and hills, 

When through the Maytime's deeps of musk 

Cried clear the whippoorwills. 

One called afar; and one, loud-heard, 
Answered quite near at hand: 
Each seemed the utterance of a word 
My heart could understand. 

'A word of wonder and of dream 
That held me when a child ; 
With charm investing every stream. 
And every woodland wild. 

That led me, most mysteriously, 
Down haunted forest ways. 
With magic of wild melody, 
Back to the old hill-days: 

Unto a porch, o'ergrown with rose, 
Where still, with wondering eyes, 
My childhood smiles and round it glows 
The dream that never dies. 



THE TEMPEST 

Like soldiers, silent in tlie last redoubt, 

The wildwoods waited as the storm drew out 

Its cloudy cohorts with a mighty shout. 

As men, who face destruction, overhead 

I heard wild voices of the rain that said, — 

" It is the forest-people ! Strike them dead ! " 

Then followed tossings of tempestuous hair, 
And movements of huge bodies everywhere, 
And protestations, as of wild despair. 

A moment's silence ; then upon the world, 
The charioteers of Tempest, — Winds, — were 

hurled. 
And Thunder's bellowing banner blew unfurled. 

An oak, the tower of two centuries, 

Set its gigantic shoulders to the breeze, 

And roared down, ruining, on enormous knees. 



THE COMMON EARTH 153 

Then overhead terrific trumpets blared: 

The sky swooped downward with a sword that 
glared, 

And the long ranks of rain rushed, hurricane- 
haired, 

Charging the world with spears that nothing 
spared. 



TWO BIRDS 

Birds 

Rising in lyric rings, 

There is a bird that sings, — 

" Never, heart, never ! " 
Meaning, — From higher things 
Never restrain thy wings; 

Mounting forever. 

Dare and endeavor. 

Gazing with jewelled eyes, 

There is a bird replies, 

" Sweetest, love, sweetest ! " 

Meaning, — What life denies 

Love, who keeps pure and wise, 
That is completest. 
Holds what is fleetest. 

Old as the heart are they. 
Birds of the every day. 

Older than sorrow. — 
Oh, may they sing alway 
Down in the hearts that pray, 

Helping care borrow 

Hope of to-morrow. 



IN THE DEEP FOREST 

In the deep forest when the lightning played, 
Pallid and frail a wilding flower swayed, 
Lifting its blossom from the streaming sod, 
Trembling and fearful, like a child dismayed, 
Who in the darkness has forgotten God. 

In the deep forest, in the thunder's roll, 
Pace to pale face I met with my own soul; 
And in its eyes were trouble and alarm. 
Like that which held the heaven from pole to 

pole. 
And doubt of God above the night and storm. 

In the deep forest, when the tempest passed, 
The flower smiled unbroken of the blast; 
And in the forest, as the day drew on, 
Hand in pale hand, with sure eyes upward cast, 
My soul and I stood confident of dawn. 



PURSUIT 

Wheee tlie slender stream runs rippling through 
the woods, 

Like a child who sings and dances to a song. 

Towards a wildrose lure that evermore eludes, 
What has followed, all noon long, 
The murmur of a throng, — 

Taint voices of the flowers that call in count- 
less multitudes ? — 

Ah, what, but that dear love of old that still 
is sweet and strong! 

Where the shadowy stream trips whispering on 

the rocks, 
Like a spirit weaving magic in a dell. 
Towards a music, at the heart that calls and 

knocks. 

What has tried to read or spell 
Every leafy miracle. 
That I^ature writes within her book of wonders 

she unlocks ? — 
Ah, what, but dear desires of old and dreams 

that still compel! 

Where the little stream slips dovniward to the 

pool, 
Like a joy into a life that shuts it round, 



THE COMMON EARTH 157 

Where the grasses crown its quiet, deep and 
cool, 

What has caught the soul and bound 
With a glimmer and a sound 
And charmed it in a place apart that lights 

make wonderful ? — 
Ah, what, but oldtim© memories that here again 
are found! 



AFTER DEATH 

The forest stirred ; and then a bird 
Sang ; and its song enspelled 
The silence like some magic word 
Bj which the heart 's compelled. 

Among the woods, with interludes, 
Deep-hidden in the green, 
It sang to little sisterhoods 
Of wildflowers dimly seen. 

It seemed a flute, a faery flute. 

Of one whom love compels, 

Who pleads. Faun-like, his wildwood suit 

In plaintive syllables. 

And I, who heard its golden word. 
Remembered once again 
How long ago I 'd heard the bird 
^When life knew less of pain. 

How then its note seemed less remote ; 
And, in mysterious reach, 
Though farther than a dream may float. 
It with my soul held speech. 



THE COMMON EARTH 159 

I understood. And through the wood 
Its song went like a gleam, 
Taking with love the solitude, 
The human heart with dream. 

It passed away with its wild lay : 
And years have gone since then : — 
I heard the bird again to-day 
Within the selfsame glen. 

In like event it came and went 
With golden melody: 
And, mother, oh, the things it meant 
To the sad heart in me ! 



LIGHT 

The golden chrysalis of dawn 

Breaks through its heavenly husk, 

And winged with rose floats up and on 
Piercing with flame the dusk. 

Out of what darkness daybreak brings 

Its testament of gold, 
Inscribed with elemental things 

That God hath never told. 

Ah, Heaven! how good it is to live, 

One with abounding day! 
To be no longer fugitive 

On Life's down-darkening way! 

But, part and portion of the light, 

To rise again re-born; 
Beyond the shadow and the night, 

Anointed of the Morn. 



THE MOTHER 

My little boy, who used to run 
With glad hair blowing in the sun, 

Where runs he now ? 

Where runs he now ? — 
In fairer fields than these, that blow 
The withered blooms of long-ago, 
That soon shall whiten with the snow 

As does my brow; 

As does my brow. 

My little boy, the sweet of tongue. 

Who leapt and laughed, and joyed and sung, 

Where sings he now? 

Where sings he now ? — 
In some bright place where children meet, 
And lullabies of love repeat, 
That break my heart's remembering beat 

With tears somehow; 

With tears somehow. 

My little boy, who used to play 
With happy eyes the livelong day, 

Where plays he now? 

Where plays he now ? — 



162 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

With fairer playthings there than those 

That broken in their box repose, 

As in my breast the hopes, God knows, 

O'er which I bow; 

O'er which I bow. 

My little boy, who sat to hear 
The wonder tales to him so dear, 

Where harks he now? 

Where harks he now ? — 
Haply in that fair world he knew 
Of faery where all dreams come true 
As here on earth they never do, 

Alas! somehow; 

Alas! somehow. 



OLD "BUD" RILEY 

" Little Boy ! — Halloo ! halloo ! 
Can't you hear me calling you? — 
Little Boy that Used to Be, 
Come in here and play with me ! " 

— "Bud" Riley. 

OvEK the rail-fence of the years, 

That climbs and crumbles between our lands, 

Old " Bud " Riley, I stretch my hands 

Full of my love and all that endears, 

As the boy's young hands that once you knew. 

Filled with unfaltering faith in you. 

And love and laughter and smiles and tears. 

The same old love that once you knew 

When you and I went wandering through 

Song's flowery fields, with never a frown. 

And whistled our sweetheart, freckled and 

brown, 
Our country Muse, in homespun gown, 
Who smiled on you and on me again. 
As we tuned our pipes in the sim and rain. 
Far from the crowd and tlie deafening town, 
Out in the woods where the world is sane, 
Out in the air of the open plain. 



164 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

High on God's hills that His streams run 

down — 
Old " Bud " Eiley, her heart was yours, 
Is . . . though my love for her endures; 
That little sweetheart, who, long, oh, long, 
Has kept you a boy in the Land o' Song. 



THEY SAY 
{To G.) 

They say that beauty withers ; 

They tell me flowers die ; 
That all the world 's unreal, 

And dreams, like days, go by: 
They say that joy is mortal, 

And nothing here is sure : 
They all are lies, for, in your eyes, 

I find that these endure. 

They tell me glory passes, 

That life is but a breath; 
That happiness goes like the rose, 

And love is slain of death: 
They say that hope shall perish, 

That nothing shall arrive: 
I scorn the whole, for, in your soul, 

I see how these survive. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 



FIREARMS 

Characters: Mrs. Houston 

Geobgiana, her daughter 

A Federal Lieutenant 

Uncle Mote, a former slave of the 
Houstons 
Time: 1864 

Scene: Entrance hall of Houston House in the State 
of Kentucky. Large doorioay, center, opening on a pillared 
verandah, visible in part from hall through large loindow 
to left of door. Colonial stairway to right, a door- 
way back and beyond stairway leading to dining-room, 
etc. Another doorway, left, leading to drawing-room. 
As the curtain rises enter from, draioing-room Mrs. Hous- 
ton, Georgiana, and Uncle Mote, all three very much 
agitated; the old negro gesticulating and explaining 
vehemently : 

Mote: 

Yass 'um ; Miss' Sally, dey 's dun f otched 

'um all — 
Tuh de las' boss ; an' ebery pig and keow — 
Dey neber lef us one ob all dat herd. 
Ut 's a-g\vine to break dis bere ole nigger's 

heart : 
Ut 's almos' broke ut now, indeed ut has. 
Ole Bess wuz de las' — de las' keow ; she 's de 

las' — 
De las' ob twenty bead. — Hit ain't no use ! 



170 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

But All c'u'd swaar an' swaar, an' jus' cut 

loose 
An', an' — kill a pa'cel o' Yankeemen ; Ah 

c'u'd; 
If Ah jus' had a gun ! — Gimme a gun, Miss 

Sally! 
Gimme a gun, er pistul — anythin' — 
An' — an' — Ah 'ull show 'um. 

Mes. Houston {greatly distressed) : 

Cows and horses gone ! 
Oh, what shall we do, Georgiana, what shall 
we do ? 

Georgiana (desperately) : 

I wish there were a gun about the place 
I 'd bushwhack them — at least I 'd get re- 
venge 
On one or two. A pistol 'd do. 

Mote (eagerly) : 

Yass 'um. Dat 's hit ! 

Georgiana : 

They 're bad as Sherman's men. Insulting 

hounds ! — 
Robbers of women ! 

Mes. Houston: 

Thieves ! hateful thieves and bandits ! — 
Georgiana, 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 171 

.Wliat shall we do now ? ISTot a horse to drive 
,0r cow to milk ! — All gone you say, Mote ? 
— gone ? 

Mote (with tears in Ms voice) : 

Yass 'um, Miss' Sally, nary a one wti2; lef. 

Geoegiana {more desperately than before) : 
I wish. I were a man ! Oh to be a man ! 
To face these cowards that make war on 



women 



Military footsteps are heard on the verandah^ 
and the jingle of accoutrements. Old Mote 
hurries to the window, peers out cautiously, 
and then hurries bach to Mrs. Houston and 
Georgiana, who have remained in the back- 
ground, near the stairway, ivhither they 
fled at the sound of soldiers' approach. 

Mote (huskily) : 

Dey 's dar. Miss' Sally ; an' de Cap'un 's wid 

'um. — 
Yuh 'd better hide yuhself. 'No tellin' now 
Whut 's hup. De Cap'un-man is wid 'um. 

Georgiana (despairingly) : 

More shame ! disgrace ! — Oh, God ! were I 
a man! 

Mks. Houston {weepingly) : 

Another outrage! ^N^ot a day goes by 
But that some new affront or insult 's offered. 



172 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

A voice commanding " Haiti " is heard outside 
the door. The footsteps cease with a clatter 
of arms. A peremptory knock is given the 
door. The two women stand waiting in 
attitudes of expectation and defiance, old 
Mote behind them. No notice is taken of 
the first knock. It is repeated more vigor- 
ously, and again ignored. 

Mes. Houston {breathlessly) : 

What can tliej want now ! oh, what can they 
want? 

Geoegiana {still desperately) : 

To be a man! to be a man right now! 
Armed with some sort of weapon. — I would 

give 
My soul. . . . 

The door is flung violently open and a Lieu- 
tenant, with a squad of Federal soldiers in 
soiled uniforms, is discovered in the door- 
way. The Lieutenant is a man of about 
five and twenty, of an assured military 
hearing, and a handsome manner. Salut- 
ing he advances unsmilingly towards the 
two ladies, his soldiers filling the doorway. 

Lieutenant {courteously) : 

I might have knocked again. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 173 

Geoegiana {scornfully) : 

And why ? 
You could not enter here except by force. 
You overwhelm us with your courtesies. 

Mrs. Houston {very rapidly) : 

'T is not enough that you have robbed us, sir, 
But you must march your ruffians to our door, 
And through our house perhaps. Is't not 

sufficient 
That you have stripped our bams and pas- 
tures of 
The last of all our herds ? Needs must you 

now 
Add outrage unto outrage; insult to injury? 
Why have you come here ? and are twenty men 
Required for the arresting of two women ? 
This must be Yankee bravery. 

Lieutenant {courteously) : 

Pardon, Madam ! 

Georgiana {interrupting him furiously) : 
Pardon indeed ! — When thieves and thugs 

win pardon 
Por deeds like yours, honor will be a name, 
And honesty a by-word. Why are you here ? 
And back of you these bristling bayonets ? 
Are we then spies ? and would you hang us 

now? 



174 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Or loot the Kouse and burn it afterwards, 
As Sherman does in Georgia ? What would 
you here? 

Lieutenant {quietly, half smilingly) : 
I was about to tell you when I entered. 
No outrage is intended, and no insult. 
I have received my orders from Headquarters 
To search out firearms in this rebel district. 
And disinfect it, as it were, of danger. 
I '11 to the point, however : Weapons, firearms, 
Whatever arms you have, or great or small. 
Must be delivered up. 

Geokgiana (scornfully) : 

And, pray sir, why ? 
We are but women. Two against an army. 
You seem to think that we are dangerous. 

Lieutenant (calmly) : 

You are notorious rebels. This is war. 
The comitry all about us here is hostile. 
Our sentinels are ambushed in the night. 
We have lost many men through such 

guerillas. 
Therefore the Government has issued orders : 
" Where any are suspect their homes be 

searched 
And weapons seized, and they, when they are 

men, 
Imprisoned." — It is known that you have 

housed 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 175 

Confederates lately. And I have commands 
To search your house unless you willingly 
Give up all firearms that you have con- 
cealed. — 
This I regret. But I obey my orders. 

Mrs. Houston (plaintively) : 

Have we not had indignities enough 

This year from you invaders ? Grief, distress 

Of mind and body too in death and loss. 

My son slain there at Gettysburg : my husband 

Wounded, — in prison : then our property 

Even to our last cow confiscated. — Now 

You would invade our home. 

Lieutenant : 

'T is hard. But such is war. 

Geoegiana (defiantly) : 

War ? — Yes ! — But must you level war on 

women ? 
If we had arms we might protect ourselves. 
But we have none, only our hands, — and 

hearts, 
That build a bulwark 'gainst you. Were I a 

man 
I would wipe out this insult with a sword, 
Or die in trying to. Even now, had I a 

weapon, 
I would resist you. But we have no arms. 



176 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Lieutenant (firmly „ hut courteously) : 
So much the better since you are for war. 
Yet I must search the house to prove it true. 

Beckons to the corporal at the door, who, with 
several men, enters the hall, saluting the 
Lieutenant, and stands awaiting orders. 

Mks. Houston {in tears) : 

We 're only women. We can not resist. 
Insult us as you please, or slay us here. 
Might makes for right. We 're helpless to 

withstand 
The many that are back of you. Indignities 
We have gro^vn used to, as one may become 
Accustomed to diseases when prolonged. — 
This man will search our house, you heard, 

Georgiana ? 

Geoegiana (impatiently) : 

I heard him, mother. (To the Lieutenant) : 
Will you take my word 

We have no firearms here, concealed or un- 
concealed ? 

Lieutenant (suavely) : 

1 would not doubt your word, but I must see. 

Geoegiana (with sarcasm) : 

Why not proclaim me liar and be done ? 
Your very words have put a doubt on truth. — 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 177 

Well, sir, since you insist, I 'U fetch, what 

firearms, 
The only ones I know of, we may have. 
They may be useful to you. As for us — 
They 're ancient implements we do not need ; 
Therefore 't is folly to keep them. — I will 

fetch them 
If you '11 permit me, and will order these 
{Indicating the corporal and his men) 
To quit the house. I will deliver all 
That I can find, and with them your dismissal. 

LlETTTENAWT '. 

I ask no more. 'T is all that I require. 
And I shall thank you, madam, and remove 
The cause of this contention. 

Georgiana {scornfully) : 

You are kind. 
(To old Mote who has been hesitating 
in the background during this col- 
^ loquy) : 
Come with, me, Mote. I need a little assist- 
ance. 

(To Lieutenant, as she is about to 
ascend the stairway respectfully fol- 
lowed by the old darkey) : 
Give me your word of honor as a man 
And officer that you will quit this house 
And with you all these raiders. 



178 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Lieutenant (^smiling) : 

If the arms, — 
All that you have, — are here delivered me, 
I pledge myself as officer and gentleman 
Immediately to remove from you the cause 
Of your disturbance. 

Geoegiana {ironically) : 

You are kind indeed ! 
{To Mrs. Houston) : 
l^ow, mother, you must calm yourself. 

You Ve heard 
Him name himself a gentleman. No harm 
Will come to any woman from a man. 
Even a Yankee, who 's a gentleman. 
(Exit with Mote up stairway.) 

Mrs. Houston {bewildered) : 

That we have firearms in the house is more 
Than I can understand. Who brought them 

here ? 
Georgiana says they 're here, and she must 

know. 
But 't is bewildering. I knew of none. 

Lieutenant {affably) : 

Believe me, madam, I am very sorry 

That we have so distressed you. I would 

rather 
Be friends than enemies with Houston House, 
Famed for its hospitality throughout the 

State. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 179 

But these are war times; and in such, you 

know, 
Unfriendliness is breeder of suspicion, 
And all suspects are subject to intrusion. 

Mes. Houston: 

But, sir, we have not entertained a Southern 

soldier 
For months. We have not, to my certain 

knowledge, 
'A firearm on the place. It is our Cause, 
I fear, that 's our offence, and your excuse 
For this intrusion. Georgiana now. 
Unless I am mistaken, will discover 
ITothing that you demand. A young girl's 

pride 
In that which she holds sacred, which she 'd 

keep 
From desecration, has devised a ruse. 
But then she may have at some time discov- 
ered. 
There in the attic, gun or old horse-pistol. 
Useless and harmless now. We had a flint- 
lock 
And powder-horn, both relics of old days, — 
'T was said they once belonged to Daniel 

Boone, — 
Hung up there o'er the doorway to that room 
Upon those antlers, but they disappeared 
Some months ago and with them a yoimg 
slave. 



180 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Search in your army; you may find them 

there 
With him, our runaway. — We are not now 
What once we were. The war has taken much, 
And will take all, perhaps, before it end. 

Lieutenant (sympathetically) : 

War is not kind to any. Least of all 
To women, who must stay at home and brood. 
War is not kind to women's hearts, dear lady. 
Men glory in war, and to them all the 

glory. . . . 
The mothers and the sweethearts have to bear 
The heavier burden — sorrow and despair. 
They sit or busy themselves at home and wait 
For tidings of their loved ones : battles fought, 
Or battles to be fought. Anxiety 
Sits with them or goes at their side forever. 
The pathos of it! In the bivouac 
Or battle men know nothing at all of this. 
The eyes of danger lure them on to deeds 
And death perhaps ; and deprivations only 
Turn their male thoughts to home and wife 

and sweetheart. 
And comforts that they miss. But at the 

bugle 
Their hearts are fire again with dreams of 

battle. 
And victory, bright in a cloud of banners. 
And smoke of cannon, glittering ranks of 

steel. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 181 

Waving them on to glory, or destruction. . . . 

War is not kind, war is not kind to women. 

Why have I spoken words like these to you ? — 

Perhaps because I have a mother and sister. — 

But here 's your daughter. 

(Enter Georgiana on the stairway ^ 
followed hy Mote, both of them 
fairly loaded down with a miscel- 
laneous collection of hearth uten- 
sils: such as andirons J fire-tongs, 
ash-shovels, pokers, etc.) 

Geoegiana (advancing rapidly and defiantly, 
with flushed face and flashing eyes, clash- 
ing her armful of iron and brass down 
at the feet of the Lieutennnt) : 

Here are your firearms ! 
There! take them all away. We have no 

others. — 
Now quit our house. — 

(Old Mote advances chucMing and 
deposits his armful carefully on top 
of Georgiana' s.) 

Mote (grinning) : 

An' dar 's de rest un 'um. 

Lieutenant (astonished ; then reddening with 
confusion at the smiles of his soldiers) : 
What 's this ? — your firearms, madam ? — 
True! — 



182 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

(Becover'ing himself, he continues 
with seeming seriousness^ : 
They might prove deadly weapons in desper- 
ate hands. 

Mes. Houston {who has begun to like the 
young Lieutenant since her tete-a-tete 
with him a moment ago) : 
Why, Georgiana ! child, how could you ? 

GEOKGiAiirA (still defiant) : 

Well! 
He said he wanted them, and there they are. 
They are the only firearms that we have. 
Now let him take them, all of them away, 
And himself too. — All we desire is peace. 

Lieutenant (smiling, mockery and admiration 
in his face) : 
Indeed! an iron argument for peace, dear 

lady. — 
But, pray you, now retain your arms. And 

let 
Peace be declared between us. 

(Turning to his amused squad) : 

Attention. Face. 
Salute the ladies. Right about. March. 
(Exit bowing.) 

Mes. Houston (forlornly ; while old Mote, ex- 
ploding with laughter, retires by door- 
way, center) : 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 183 

Well, well, my dear, however could you do it ? 
And he so hind. 

Geoegiana {surprised at her mother s tone) : 

So kind ? — And do you call it kindness 

To force your way, with arms, into our house, 

And search out reasons to confirm suspicions ? 

I call it outrage ! Never call it kindness. — 

(A little mollified) : 
I hope we 've seen the last of him and all 
Who wear his hateful uniform. — Oh dear ! 

Mes. Houston {in a gentle voice) : 
He had his orders, Gcorgiana, dear. 
You must not blame him too much. War ^s 
at fault. 

Geoegiana {suddenly despondent) : 

/ do not blame him, mother. He was nice. 

But that he should come prying here awoke 

A rage in me I can not understand. 

If it had been another man, why, I — 

Would not have cared at all. But he aroused 

An angry opposition here in me 

I can not well explain. I 'd rather have died 

Than let him search the house. — Oh, I am 

tired 
Of this long war. — When will it end ? oh, 

when! 
The grief, the heartbreak of it all ! the wait- 
ing, 



184 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The weary waiting and the lack of loving. — 
Mother, he, too, is young ; may have a sister, 
A sweetheart, maybe. And he may be killed, 
Next week, to-night. — Oh, mother, war 's so 

cruel. — 
I am unhappy, mother, so unhappy. 

Mes. Houston {taking her soothingly into her 

arms) : 
There, there, my child ! my little Georgiana ! 
Have patience yet awhile. We must be brave. 
And trust in God. All will come right with 

time. 

Georgiana {sighing) : 

He had kind eyes; and when he smiled I 

thought 
He looked like brother. Had he come to us 
In any way but this, I could have — liked 

him. 
But he is gone now, never to return. 
War is so cruel, mother. Love unkind. 

Curtain 



A CRYING IN THE NIGHT 

Pebsons : A Sick Giel 

A GrlBL FEIEND 

Scene : A poorly hut neatly furnished cottage tedroom, 
adjoining and opening into a kitchen. 

Sick Giel: 

It 's in the kitchen. Don't you hear it crying ? 



There 's nothing there but trouble of the flue 



Giel Fkiend 
There 's noi 
With wind and rain. 

Sick Gikl: 

You know, when it was dying 
It cried like that. — What shall I, can I do ? — 

Giel Feiend: 

You poor, poor thing ! there, there. 

Sick Giel: 

I saw the fire 
Was low, and put it . . . underneath the 

coal ; 
And as it burned its cry rose high and 

higher. — 
Tell me ? — Can imperfection have a soul ? 



186 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

An embryo, no human thing could love, 
That must associate itself with shame ! — 
Are you quite sure there 's nothing in the 

stove ? — 
Ah, God ! ah, God ! for what am I to blame ? 

GiEL Friend: 

Keep still ; and try to think of that no more. 
You will go mad if you keep on like this. 

Sick Girl (listening intently) : 

ISTow ! don't you hear it crying at the door ? — 
Surely you must. — How horrible it is ! — 
To think it suffers there ! — But you — you 

know 
How, so unthinking, and how, unprepared 
For all, I 've suffered. It was like a blow. 
I should have been advised, and never dared 
To face my mother. 

Girl Friend (positively) : 

Why, you should have shared 
Your trouble with her. 

Sick Girl: 

!Never, never that t 
To have her know ? That would have ended 

all. 
But how I 've suffered ! — Smiling I have 

sat, — 
Smiling, yet dreadful of what would befall: 
Fearful of every movement; as I went 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 187 

Studying concealment ; she suspecting naught. 

God help me now to keep her ignorant 

Of this my crime, that blackened all my 

thought 
For months, till it was done. — But let it 

be.— 
You are the one who understood somehow, 
You are the one who has befriended me. . . . 
But, listen ! — don't you hear it crying now ? — 

Girl Friend: 

Lie quiet. 'T is the wind in some wild 

crack. . . . 
I know your mother. — That she 'd be away 
These two bad days now! When does she 

come back? 

Sick Girl: 

I fear to-morrow; or, perhaps, next day. 
Could we devise some plan to make her 
stay ? — 

Girl Friend: 

The sooner she returns the better. 

Sick Girl: 

'ITay ! — 
Oh, had my father lived this had not been ! 
How hard life is ! how miserable and hard ! — 
When father died I was not seventeen. 
And from that time it seems my life was 
marred. 



188 THE POET. THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

I had to go to work. — Then brother died. — 
It seems all things combined to make me bad. 
I lost my place. How was I to decide ? 
We had to live. — No work was to be had. 
There was but one thing left : my hands were 

tied; 
And I was sold, like any slave : nor knew 
Who in the end would pay the reckoning. 
There was no other thing for me to do. 
I was so ignorant of everything. 
This way seemed easy. God would give no 

sign. 
And there was mother who was ailing much, 
And if I lost her, too, what fate were mine ! 
The wonder is that God permitted such. . . . 
But that 's a thing Life often wonders at — 
God's huge indifference, and disregard 
Of all distress ; the misery, leaving scarred, 
Or stained, the soul, that gropes in utter 

night : 
Ah, if the soul had but a little light ! — 
There came no sign. My faith brought noth- 
ing in. 
We could not live on prayer, when by our 

hearth 
Starvation sat, gaunt knuckled, hand on chin. 
Staring the soul dead. What was virtue 

worth 
Before that stare, that mixed it with the 

earth ? 
Something to barter in the House of Sin, 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 189 

Of little value, and just left to rot, 
Whether 't is sold, or whether it is not. 

Girl Fkiend: 

You must not talk like that. — 'T will in- 
jure you. 

Sick Girl: 

And does it matter ? — Shall I live ? — For 
what? 

Girl Friend: 

Your mother ! — When she comes what will 
you do? 

Sick Giuj. (with determination and conviction) : 
Oh, when she comes I must be out and up. 

Girl Friend: 

Have in the doctor. 

Sick Girl: 

That would not be safe. 
He would ask questions. — 

Girl Friend: 

Well, then. Drink this cup 
Of tea : 't will help you. 

Sick Girl (suddenly starting up, a looh of in- 
expressible fear on her face) : 

Hark ! — the little waif 



190 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Is crying there again ! — Oh, you must 

hear ! — 
You hear but say you don't. 

Girl Feiend {shuddering) : 

You make me creep. 
It 's just perhaps a singing in your ear 
The tea would make. 

Sick Gikl (sobbing) : 

Will it always weep, 
And never cease, from year to haunted year ? 

Girl Friend (going cautiously to tlie Jcitchen 
door; listening; and then returning to 
the Sick Girl's side) : 

There 's nothing there, I tell you, but your 
fear. — 

Be quiet now ajid try to go to sleep. 

Sick Girl (gazing wildly about the room) : 
I can not sleep. And yet not for myself 
Am I afraid. You know what I believe: 
The Bible there upon that under-shelf 
Damns me forever. Not for that I grieve — 
But that the Thing had life which I thought 

dead! 
That it had life, and was so slain by me, 
That makes the crying here, here in my head, 
And in my heart the piercing agony. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 191 

GiEL Friend: 

I think, perhaps, I '11 have the doctor in. 

Sick Girl: 
JSTot you ! — And have him know ? — Put that 

thought by ! 
You 'd have the whole town yelping of my sin. 
Think of my mother ! — Ah! — I 'd rather 

die. 

Girl Friend: 
Then I must go. 

Sick Girl: 

And leave me here with it! 

Girl Friend: 
Yes; I must go. 

Sick Girl: 

And would you leave me so ? — 
When I 'm afraid the door there where you 

sit, — 
If you should go, will open very slow 
And it will enter, with its blackened face. 
All accusation, and its eyes aglow 
With God's damnation. 

Girl Friend (concealing her own terror under 
a nervous smile) : 

There is not a trace 
Of sense in all this horror ! — If I stay 
You '11 have to talk less. 



192 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Sick Giel: 

That 's my girl-friend Grace ! 
How kind you are. But close the kitchen 

door, 
^nd shut the voice out. — If I could but 

pray, 
Then it might hush its crying; take away 
This terror too down deep in my heart's core. 

Girl Feiend: 

You 're hard on your poor self. If you could 
sleep ! 

Sick Girl: 

I can not sleep, I can not sleep to-night ! 
That crying there. If you would only keep 
The door locked fast, and light another light. 

Girl Friend {goes into the kitchen, returns 

with another lighted lamp) : 
There now. Don't trouble. It is closed once 

more. {Closing door.) 
I Ve brought the kitchen lamp along. 

Sick Girl : xhat 's right. — 

And did you hear it crying as before ? 

Girl Friend; 

I^aught heard I save the water in a pan 
Simmering and steaming. Now I '11 lock the 
door. 

{Goes to the door and locks it care- 
fully.) 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 193 

Sick Gikl (with a sigh of relief) : 
To me you are far braver than a man. 

(Listening intently for a minute or 
tivo.) 
It's stopped its wailing. (Brightening up.) 

When my mother comes 
To-morrow morning I must be about. 

GiEL Feiend: 

You '11 stay in bed. 



Sick Girl: 

Lie here and bite my thumbs ? — 
'No ; I '11 be up. And better, too, no doubt. 

Girl Friend: 

You '11 kill yourself. 

Sick Girl (with pensive pathos) : 

There is no other way. 
I have to pay — that 's all that I regret. 
It is the woman always has to pay. 
The man can sin : his sin entails no debt. — 

(After a long pause) : 
But what I did I did deliberately 
For money for my mother, who has fought 
Want all her life ! — That clears me, don't 
you see? 

( With conviction) : 



194 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And if she never knows — why give 't a 
thought ? — 

(She lifts herself J, listening again. 
Smiles wanly as if satisfied with 
the stillness J and sighs) : 
Now prop my pillow up, and smooth the 

sheet : 
I feel so drowsy. — Ah, the hush is deep ! 
It 's good as music ; but to me more sweet 
Than any sound. — And, oh, how I shall 
sleep I 



THE WOMAN ON THE ROAD 

Pebsons: a Woman, with a Child in her arms 

A Little Boy 

A Man 
Scene: A Country Road near a deep and hilly wood. 

The Maist (overtaking the Woman, who looTcs 
worn and tired) : 
That 's a good load now for a wearj woman ! 
The babe 's enough, but the big bag beside ! — 
It is too much. 

The Woman {wearily, looking at him and 
speaking with impatience) : 

What would you have me do, man ? — 
They who have money can afford to ride. 
It seems to me I am no longer human. — 
What time is it ? 

The Man {with a kindly smile) : 

Not long till eventide. — 
Your boy looks worn out, too. 

The Woman {fiercely, addressing, as it were, 
the malign cause of it all) : 

]^o wonder ! Walking 
Since seven to-day, and little rest between. 
And less of food. But I 'm too tired for 
talking. 



196 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The Man {softly) : 

That you are tired is easy to be seen. 

The Woman {somewhat mollified and setting 
down bundle) : 
But what one don't see is the heavy aching 
Here. {Laying hand on heart.) While I 

walk it does n't bother so. 
The rocking keeps the baby too from waking. 
Perhaps you are a father, and you loiow. 

The Man {quietly smiling) : 

I wish I knew. — Your children are quite 

taking. . . . 
And where 's their father ? 

The Woman {dejectedly) : 

Dead a year ago. 
Killed by a train — a freight, where he was 
braking. 

The Man {quickly) : 

And did n't the railroad pay ? — 

The Woman {indignantly) : 

Pay ? — Carelessness 
They proved it was. And all our savings 

went. 
And then — and then — the baby came. 

The Man {sympathizingly) : 

I guess 
What followed : — hunger. — {Indignantly) : 
They not mulct a cent! 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 197 

The Woman (wearily) : 

We 've walked and begged our way for many 

a mile. 
It 's Shepherdstown that we are walking to. 
My husband's folks are there. 

The Man (musingly) : 

'T will take a while. — 
At least till midnight. ( With decision) : It . 

would never do. 
You can not walk it with that tired boy. — 
How old is he ? A sturdy lad. 

The Woman : 

Just six. 

The Man (ingratiatingly) : 

Come here, young man. What have you 
there? A toy? 

Child : 

No, sir : a torch, — just berries stuck on 

sticks, — 
To light the way with. — Have you any 

cakes ? 
I 'm hungry, Mister. (Smiling up wistfully 

at the Man.) 

The Man (with decision, turning to the 
Woman) : 

Give the babe to me, 
And rest you here. 



198 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The Woman {as the hahy wakes, seating her- 
self and beginning to nurse it) : 

How my poor body aches ! 
So Shepherdstown is miles away ? 

The Man (vaguely) : 

May be. — 
My farm is close. You '11 stop there for 

awhile, 
Till I search out the people you would know 
At Shepherdstown. (Suddenly) : Your boy 

now has the smile 
Of someone that I know, or knew. But, no, 
Impossible. 

The Woman (impressively) : 

He has his father's eyes. 
His father came from Shepherdstown, you 
see. 

The Man (intently) : 

And may I ask his name ? 

The Woman: 

His name was Wise — 
Jim Wise. — Perhaps you know his family ? 
You live so near to Shepherdstown. 

The Man (with emotion) : 

Why, yes. 
I know his family. Why, Jim, now, — 
Jim — 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 199 

Why, my name 's Wise ! — My brother Jim, 

I guess. 
You 're speaking of. — Years since we heard 

of him. 

The Woman (incredulously) : 
Where do you live, sir ? 

The Man (dreamily) : 

ISTot so far from here : 
Beyond this strip of wood. — You see, I 

farm. 
Jim never did like farming. It was queer. 
The City swallowed him. He came to harm. 
So I have heard, through women. 

The Woman (vehemently, starting to her feet) : 

It 's a lie ! — 
Here is the only woman whom he knew, 
And here the children you may know her by. 

The Man: 

I meant no insult. Why, I know how true 
A woman you are. You must have helped 

my brother. — 
We heard he 'd married, that was all. — 

Well, well. 
And you 're his vddow ? — This is news for 

mother. 

The Boy (who has been looJcing wide-eyed at 
the Man during all this talk) : 
It 's suppertime. It 's nearly time to start. 



200 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The Man {laughing and hugging the hoy close 
up to him) : 
Why, so it is. And there 's a lot to tell 
To your old Granny. — Seems incredible. — 
Look at me, boy. Why, you 're Jim's coun- 
terpart. 

The Boy (looking earnestly at the Man) : 
What is a counterpart ? — Where people 

eat? — 
And will 't be cake ? or something like a 

tart ? — 

The Man (with decision in his manner and 

voice) : 
Yes, it '11 be cake. — Now hurry. — Come 

this way. 
But I must carry you. Your little feet 
Have earned a ride. (Mounting boy on his 

back) : There! 

The Woman (smiling wanly) : 

You 're Jim's brother Ray. 

The Man (nodding over his shoulder) : 
How did you guess ? 

The Woman: 

Just by the way you treat 
My little boy and me. One need not say. — 
Often I 've heard Jim tell of you. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 201 

The Man {pointing) : 

But look ! 
There is your home now; by the roadside 

there, 
Among the flowers, beyond this cressy brook. 

The Woman: 

How honeysuckle-sweet ! And what a bed 
Of Giant-of -Battle roses ! — Everywhere 
Are flowers ! — Just as Jim has often said. 
He loved to picture it. . . . All those iron 

years 
The memory of this place kept soft his heart. 
He was a good man — Jim. 

The Man: 

Don't cry now. Tears 
Are done with. This is home. You 've done 

your part 
By Jim, and now we '11 do our part by you. 

The Woman {drying her eyes) : 

It seems to me too beautiful to be true. 
It is a dream I '11 wake from. 

The Man {smiling at her) : 

]^ot this week 
Nor many a week to come. — There 's mother, 

see! 
Look where she waits now in that sunset 

streak 
Beside the gate, gray in the shrubbery. 



202 the poet, the fool, and the faeries 

The Woman: 

What a kind face she has ; it breathes of rest. 
But we 've no right here. 

The Man: 

That 's no way to speak ! 

Our home is your home. — Don't look so dis- 
tressed. 

You are Jim's widow. — Mother '11 daughter 
you. — 

And there 're your children ! — Don't, or 
won't you see 

You 're giving more than you receive ? — I 
do.— 

!Now let 's meet mother. — Leave it all to me. 



ROBBER GOLD 

There hangs the painting. — Will you sit 

And hear me tell how it was born ? — 

Or, rather, why I value it ? — 

It may be that it helps my yarn: 

Prompts memory: saves me, say, from scorn 

Of unbelievers, such as you, 

"Who may not think my story true. 

You like the picture, eh ? — It 's clear. — 

My tale epitomized, you see. — 

For me it has the thrill, the fear 

Of that tense moment, suddenly 

Which swept aside my poverty 

And made me rich. . . . Ai, ai ! — Who knows 

What just a heel-tap may disclose! 

I who sit comfortable now 

With friends beside the wine, cigars, 

Was less than dirt beneath the plough 

Of Fortune once. — Read here the scars 

Of lost black battles and old wars 

With Fate. . . . But there 's my tale to tell. — 

I fear I never do it well. 

In brief, then : — In a land of thieves 
Was one — a thief and bushman ; who, — 



204 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Gray as gray winter when it grieves, 
Housed me one night. — It seems he knew 
Of treasure somewhere — had a clue, 
And told me. — Well, as many had, 
I thought him but a fool, or mad. 

Until one day I found the place — 
A bald hill rimmed with grizzly grass, 
And seamed with wrinkles, like a face, 
Down which two streams, like tears, did race 
From one round pool, as still as glass, 
A Cyclop's eye, browed thick with thorn, 
That seemed to leer a look of scorn. 

The sunset struck athwart the land 
A glare of hate; an evil flame; 
Tierce as a thought that lifts a hand 
Of murder in an outlaw band, 
Commanding to some deed of shame ; 
And like a signal overhead. 
One cloud blew wild, a ragged red. 

A cut-throat place for cut-throat deeds! 
With death's-head looks all wrung and wryed. — 
Was it a bloodstain in the weeds ? 
Or but some autumn plant whose seeds 
Dropped scarlet on the gray hillside ? — 
It made me catch my breath a space. 
Fearing to see a dead man's face. 

I left my horse : and looked around 

For that dwarfed pine, he said the waste 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 205 

Was marked with, — where the clue was 

found. . . . 
No tree was there — save on the ground 
A rotted trunk with lichens laced; 
So old it looked, it seemed to me 
It had been dead a century. 

A rock, he said, with arrows hewn 

Lay at its root. — Well, there were rocks ! 

The place was pierced and piled and strewn 

With thousands ; — none that held a rune. 

To point me to that buried box. — 

As soon search out one bone of bones 

On Doomsday as that stone of stones. 

By then the sunset glare had died. 

And darkness, with an haggard eye 

Of moon, crept down the gaunt hillside. 

I sat me on that tree and tried 

To think the thing out. Did he lie? 

That bearded beggar, old and gray. 

That bushman I had found one day. 

What right had one so foul and poor. 

So helpless, say, in such a spot, 

With so much wealth ? ISTot even a door 

To his vile hovel, where I bore 

Him dying when I found him shot. — 

What right had he, so poor and old, 

To secrets, say, of buried gold? 



206 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Then on my mind it flashed like rain : 
The man was mad ; — had lived alone 
With dreams of riches, — it was plain, — 
Till gold possessed him bone and brain. — 
Just then my heel wrenched up a stone . . . 
And there! as plain as God's half moon 
In heaven, an arrow point lay hewn. 

" A madman ? " — and I laughed awry. 

" A fool might dig to prove his dream! " — 

But if unproved, a fool were I 

To come so near to pass it by, 

For other fools, say, to redeem! 

When, one could see, — you understand, — 

The thing lay ready to my hand. 

Well ; what I found this frame declares — 

This canvas — see ? — A hill of rocks. — 

The artist ? — Why, a name that shares 

Its fame with none. — The lean moon stares 

Upon a grave; a bursten box; 

A dead man by them, gray and old. — 

I call my picture " Kobber Gold." 



THE BATTLEFIELD 

AN OLD SOLDIER TO HIS DOG 

Come here, old fellow, let us sit and talk. — 
What think you of the landscape there below. 
My field of battle ? — Was it worth the walk ? — 
What ? — growling ? — Do you mean to tell me 

No? 
— Look at our cabin now, the sunset flecks ! — 
Does it not seem to smile at us ? — Its glow 
Is as if joy dwelt there of long ago, 
And not the misery of two old wrecks. 
From some quite different time, the good old 

past. 
When happiness housed in it, unconcealed, 
And round it flowed the blessings of the field, 
It got that happy look it still holds fast. 
You know how once you raced the rabbit here. 
Or watched the sheep ; or home the cows would 

bring; 
Stopping a moment there beside the spring, 
While from the grain the bob-white's cry rose 

clear ? 
There went the path through meadows, dewy 

bright. 
That to the lover said, " I am the way, 
The very shortest, to your love to-night. 



208 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Come, follow me, and clasp your heart's de- 
light." 
The cornfield's billows there no longer sway ; 
Weeds and the briar usurp their place of 

plumes ; 
No orchard now within that valley blooms 
Or bears ripe fruit, where those old boughs 

decay. 
And death with barren hand the hillside grips: 
Our path has nothing more of love to tell, 
And grimly closes tight its grassy lips ; 
While over all oblivion lays its spell. 
Only our cabin with its pear tree seems 
Glad, unawakened from its oldtime dreams. 
'T is like the land on yonder side our heath : 
Though long ago joy vanished from its arms. 
Still with a gown of flowers it decks its charms, 
Adorns its brow with love's perennial wreath. 
True to the old, already mindless of 
The war that swept it, yearly it wears its 

roses. 
In that small place to live is good enough. 
So snugly cabined, quaint 'mid blossoming 

closes. 
There one can talk with every wind that blows. 
And with the neighborly rain that comes at 

night ; 
And there one may look up and greet the light, 
And take the first and last kiss she bestows. 
When night weds star to star with ray on ray, 
And you, my old hound, to the round moon bay, 



EPISODE AND CHARACTER 209 

How good it is to lie there, looking out, 
Marking what she, the pale moon, is about, 
With her white stealth ; and, gliding silvery wan, 
To watch her towards our slumbering cabin 

creep. 
Trying with ghostly fingers until da"wn 
To rob it, through that window, of its sleep. . . . 
Get up, old fellow; we are rested now. 
Let 's move about. 'T will help us talk some- 
how. 

Where was I ? — Oh ! — Why, up there with the 

moon 
Waiting your bay. — But, see you ! where they 

gather. 
Whose limbs were cannon-food long since ? or 

rather 
War's vintage. — Look, now, where they march 

afar 
In lines of sunset, settling on yon dune 
Where batteries bloomed once, star on crimson 

star, 
Oblations on the altar-stone of war. 
Altar ? — old dog ! — No ! slaughter-house and 

furnace 
Of Hell was this same field : a red Avemus 
Of thunder and of flame and bugle-call . . . 
There where that banner of mist streams over 

all, 
Look! look! the charge! the phantom plunge 

and fall 



210 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Of bayonet lines of hurtling horse and men. . . . 
All silent now, at peace there in the grave, 
Foe side by side with foeman; coward and 

brave ; 
Rent limbs and bodies ; broken hearts of mothers 
And lovers, too ; all silent. — God be praised ! 
'T is past and done with, holocaust and all. 
And what we saw there was a spectre raised 
Of fancy merely, thinking on the fall 
Of our Confederacy. — How natural 
It seemed at first ; but now the scene 's erased. — 
What does it matter ? we 're aristocrats 
Still, my good fellow, spite of all the shame 
Of that defeat. We may be poor as rats. 
But we are proud, though mutilated, lame. . . . 
Of my poor body I have given a member 
To that lost Cause. . . . You will forgive me, 

even 
If I do mention it. But now, by Heaven ! 
I have to speak of things which I remember: 
For instance ... no ; you will not take it ill — 
You know the little grave there on the hill ? — 
Her grave, old boy : you will remember Nellie, — 
My sweetheart and your playmate of that past 
You hate to hear of, — who shall haunt me till 
This hollow drum, my heart, beats its reveille, 
Its final challenge ; and 't is taps at last 
For all my dreams — dust on the whirling blast. 

You think me bitter. But it 's hard each day 
To smile and lie when o'er the heart the harrow 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 211 

Of loss has gone ; it irks one to the marrow 
When there is no one left to smooth away 
The grief of old misfortune; or delay 
Regret, whose burden is remembered pain, 
And that despair which says " All — hope — is 

— vain." 
If you were only human, and could draw 
A little nearer, I might tell you more. 
Old dog: but if you have a bone to gnaw 
You are contented : well may you ignore 
Regrets and memories that naught restore. — 
When dogs remember, now, I ask you whether 
'T is joy or grief they feel, or both together ? — 
Ah, my old friend, you sympathize, I know ; 
I see it in your eyes ; whose sadness flatters ; 
And till the news far as our village scatters, 
There, of my death, I hope to keep you so : 
And while we have each other nothing matters. 



The night draws on. Look how the gray mist 

flies. 
Wind-hunted of the Autumn overhead — 
Or is it some dim army of the dead 
In wild retreat, filling the heavens with dread ? 
Hark ! what is that ? a bugle blast that dies ? — 
Or wild-fowl honking South through starless 

skies ? — 
I read their message — winter and hard 

times. . . . 
The evil genius- of the place again 



212 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Plays black tricks with the mind, devising 

crimes : 
And though I flee it, it is all in vain: 
Through bush and briar it follows, dark, de- 
riding : — 
" O fool," it cries, " with all your doubts and 

fears. 
What ! have you lived these many loveless years, 
And found no cure yet for the curse of 

tears ? " — 
And all my wounds, with that, break from their 

hiding. — 
(As through a village, with vile gibes and 

screams, 
Scorn taunts a fool on, wrapped in foolish 

dreams, 
So, jeering, through the dark it follows ever. ) — 

This will not do. With my one leg we '11 never 
Get home to-night. Something has gone amiss 
In me, I fear, old dog. I feel almost 
As if we two were lost, were utterly lost. . . . 
We must get home ; get home ; where firelight 

is — 
Firelight and comfort, that shall lay this ghost. 



THE HOUSE OF NIGHT 

It had been raining all that night; 
And now the mists were everywhere: 
They wrapped the house from roof to stair, 
And glimmered phantom faces white 
At every window: wild of hair 
They streamed around me in the light, 
That found me standing on the stair. 

The lonely hills were all around ; 
The ancient house loomed out alone; 
So gray, that he, who had not known, 
Beholding it from higher ground, 
Had sworn it was of mist, not stone; 
So vague it was, so shadow-drowned. 
So gray and still, and dim, unknown. 

My cap and cloak were beaded gray 

With wisps of rain that gleamed like sleet; 

If anyone had chanced to meet 

My dripping form, I dare to say 

No phantom in a winding sheet 

Had filled his heart with more dismay. 

As when the dead and living meet. 

The forest I had paced till dawn 
Was like a false heart filled with fear; 



214 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Its darkness threatened at my ear 
And ever held a weapon drawn, 
Waiting to strike; now with a sneer 
Regarding me; now urging on 
With menaced murder at my ear. 



It hurled its roots like ropes across 
My path; and from each humpback tree 
Spat black its rain, in spite, at me; 
And dragged its toad-life from the moss 
To croak contempt and obloquy; 
And now and then its limbs it 'd toss 
And strike a serpent-fang at me. 

This was not all : Its outrage leered 
Monstrosities in fungoid forms 
!From toadstool faces: twisted arms 
Of mistletoe, that, gesturing, jeered: 
Its hate laid nets for me in swarms 
Of webs, blindfolding sight, that bleared 
Each path that flung out spider arms. 

Yet I had won through all, and come 
To this gray house of mist at last: 
This ancient manse, with which was cast 
My lot of life and all its sum. 
Piled with the records of the past; 
That stared upon me, dark and dumb, 
As on a soul of God outcast. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 215 

Or as one gazes on the dead 
Whom he has hated for some sin. — 
And jet I too must enter in 
This house that night inhabited, 
This house of mist, made closest kin 
With all my dreams. — I felt no dread, 
But struck the door, and entered in. 



THE HOUSE OF PRIDE 

Weeds will spring up around the place, 

And summer and the winter rain 

Obliterate of it all trace — 

As in the order of the brain 

Terror and loss and mortal pain 

Work madness; and, where flowers of thought 

Once bloomed, all 's wild and soul-distraught. 

The dodder's tawny tangle here 
Will spread a strangling web around ; 
And from the trees the barren year 
Drop bitter fruit upon the ground — 
As in a heart, where love was found. 
Hatred takes hold ; and hope, perchance, 
Puts on despair's black countenance. 

So be it. Death shall have its way 
With all that makes for fine and fair. — 
Yes; each grim year, day after day. 
Shall sow oblivion's garden there, 
Until the place is grown one stare 
Of wilderness ; like some blind face. 
In whose wild look light has no place. 

Yes, this shall be! And it is just, 
Since here a human heart was slain. 
And love was sacrificed for lust. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 217 

When out of gold was forged a chain 
To hold a soul to all things vain: 
A woman's soul, a breath of fire, 
Bound will-o' -wisp-like to the mire. 

'Now it shall burn — the Godless house ! 
The house of ancient pedigree ! — 
No more shall it, in wild carouse, 
Lord it ; and in depravity 
Stare down contempt on misery; 
Its insolence and arrogance 
Scorning all lesser circumstance. 

Now it shall burn ! — A little while 
And those long windows blaze with fear. 
That eye-like now on darkness smile, 
The moonlight in them like a sneer. 
That makes the whole vile house one leer 
Of lordliness, that soon shall change 
To terror and know something strange. 

Think, what a form of fire shall take 
The midnight with surprise ! and cleanse 
This soiled spot, as with flaming rake. 
Of its defilement: fierce, intense. 
Piling the refuse heap immense 
Of that which never stood for soul. 
Making the senses all its goal. 

Yea; let the flame become a sword, 

To strike pollution from the land! 

And, crimson-flourished, cleave the horde 



218 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Of Hell's persistence ; like the brand 
Of God Himself; and, fiery fanned, 
Sweep down the twain in judgment there, 
Catching them blazing by the hair. 

So it is written. They must bum ! — 

The bridegroom Lust ; the purchased bride ! — 

So that my soul may cease to yearn 

And walk in darkness, hollow-eyed. — 

Yea, let it fall, — this House of Pride ! — 

And flame to Heaven, with all my curse, 

And all my love, that still is hers! 



GUILT 

The fat weeds, rooted in decay, 

Make rank the autumn of the way: 

There is no light, except the glow 

Of fox-fire by the stagnant creek, 

And one slim wisp, that, gliding low, 

Hangs blue above the agaric. 

That oozes from the rotting tree. 

Where ghost-flowers point pale hands at me. 

The forest drips and dreams of death. 
That breathes on me its weedy breath, 
Dark with the wailing wind and wet : 
And all around me drops of rain 
Sound weird as feet of phantoms met 
Among the woods whose leaves complain: 
And evermore some ancient fear, 
Wind-like, keeps muttering at my ear. 

And once, as when one takes his stand. 
The storm thrust forth a sudden hand 
And struck the wood: the trees around 
Roared sidewise ; and, like frightened hags, 
Rent at their tattered robes; the ground 
Rustled with wildness of their rags; 
And overhead an owlet's cry, 
Like some lost ghost, went shuddering by. 



220 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The place is cursed since that dark day 
When black-masked men came here to slay: 
The dead walk here since yonder swung 
On yon bleak tree, that lent its aid, 
An innocent life, that, wild of tongue, 
In vain to man and Heaven prayed. 
The place is haunted ; earth and air 
Seem burdened with a black despair. 

I should have spoken : 't was my lie 
That slew him : I who let him die. — 
But no ! — it was God's part to see ; 
To give some sign; to let men know: 
To point accusingly at me. 
And bid them see who struck the blow: 
To bid them know ; to set them right — 
Not leave it all to me to-night. 



THE OLD LOVE 

As winds bend grasses all one way 

And take the fields with rout. 
Old memories swept my thoughts one day 

And turned my life about. 
As roots, through leaves which drink the rain, 

Divine the broken drought, 
My heart grew conscious through the brain 
Of sorrow gone, joy come again, 

Anb hope's wild banners out. 

And on the road, the long-lost road, 

I found my feet once more: 
'T was night ; and through the darkness glowed 

Her window's starry core. 
Again it thundered in the hills, 

As once it had before, 
When from the rose ran little rills, 
And we two 'mid the daffodils 

First kissed outside her door. 

Now through the white wrack overhead 

The round moon waded on, 
Like some dim woman, pale of tread. 

Who by a dream is drawn. 
The night shook down its rainy hair 

With fireflies jewelled wan; 



222 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

And through its fragrance, ever fair, 
Again she ran to greet me there, 
As if I 'd never gone. 

Again the honeysuckle scent 

Of her sweet hair I breathed; 
Again to mine her lips were lent, 

My arms about her wreathed: 
Again the night around us sighed, 

And from its cloud unsheathed 
A star, as there I opened wide 
Mj heart to her, who laughed and cried, 

And love's old answer breathed. 

Long had she waited ; I delayed ; 

Until, as Heaven designed. 
Immediate, ardent, unafraid, 

Her memory swept my mind : 
And with it need of home and love, 

And all life holds in kind 
With man, to lift the soul above 
The years and give hearts hope enough 

To do the work assigned. 



IN LILAC TIME 

Through orchards of old apple-trees, 
That Spring makes musical with bees ; 
By garden ways of vines and flowers 
Where, twittering sweet, the bird-box towers. 

And swallows sun their plumes: 
The path leads winding to the gate, — 
Hung with its rusty chain and weight, — 
That opens on a lilac-walk 
Where dreams of love and memories talk, 

Born of the dim perfumes. 

The old house stands with porches wide 
And locust-trees on either side; 
Its windows, kindly as the eyes 
Of friendship, smiling at the skies, 

Each side its open door: 
Beside its steps May-lilies lift 
BelFd sprays of snow in drift on drift; 
And in the door, a lily too. 
Again she stands, the one he knew 

In days that are no more. 

Again he meets her, brown of hair, 
Among the clustered lilacs there ; 
The sun is set; the blue dusk falls; 
A nesting bird another calls ; 



224 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

A star leaps in the sky: 
Again he breathes the lilac scent 
And rose; again her head is bent; 
And oh ! again, beside the gate, 
To see the round moon rise they wait, 

Before they kiss good-bye. 

Long years have passed: the times, since then, 
Have changed: and customs too and men: 
But she has never changed to him, 
Nor has the house, so old and dim. 

Where once they said good-bye; 
That place, which Spring keeps ever fair 
Through memories of her face and hair — 
Unchanged, like some immortal rhyme, 
Where evermore 't is lilac-time, 

And love can never die. 



THE RETURN 

There was no element of grief 

In that old land's stolidity: 

"No trace of memory, or relief 

Tor heartbreak, in its apathy: 

Rather a broad complacency, 

A satisfied, plebeian air, 

That breathed content and never a care. 

Yet it was here that youth had died 

And love was buried years ago. 

There was no hint on any side 

Of all that wretchedness and woe. 

And I, who thought some trace would show 

Upon its face in sympathy, 

Read nothing there of tragedy. 

Instead, the birds sang in the trees: 
And wood and meadow were a-sway 
With gladness of the boimding breeze, 
And wildflowers tossing with the day: 
The very clouds, in white array, 
That swept their shadows o'er the sward, 
Looked dovni a lofty disregard. 

I sat me down upon a stone. 
Beside the tree where once I stood 
"When love denied me, and alone 



226 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

My soul groped blindly through the wood. — 
I sat me down in solitude 
As once before: and sad the years 
Assailed my heart with bitter tears. 

The place was hateful to me now ; 
That place, which love had so endeared; 
Wherein my soul had thought, somehow, 
Its search would find what it had feared 
Yet longed to find : A record seared 
Upon its face. But I could find 
ISTothing of what was in my mind. 

And while I sat there by the pine 

Two children passed — a girl and boy : 

His children ! — hers! — who should be mine ! — 

I knew them by their looks of joy: 

One had her eyes: without alloy 

The other had her golden hair. — 

Ah God! it was too much to bear! 

How could the land sit so serene ! 
The heaven above look such content! 
Tempest and night should set the scene, 
And in its midst, made evident. 
The heartbreak and bewilderment 
Of life ; and the futility 
Of effort and its agony. 

But Nature for all human woe 
And suffering has no regard: 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 227 

She goes her calm way here below 
Forever armed, forever barred 
Against revealment. — Iron hard. — 
So thought I as I turned away. . . . 
'T was Nature broke my heart that day. 



THE GRAY GARDEN 

Here in this room she used to sit 
Where, by that window, stands her chair: 
Often her hands forgot to knit 
Intent upon the garden there. 
An old kind face, that kept its youth 
As flavor keeps a winter pear ; 
The soul of Esther, heart of Ruth 
Were hers that helped her still to bear. 

The garden, whispering through its flowers, 

Spoke to her heart of many things, 

That helped her pass the twilight hours 

With old, divine rememberings. 

There she would wander like a ghost, 

Or stand just where that white rose swings, 

And listen, for an hour almost, 

How Dusk went by on nighthawk wings. 

No flowers were hers of gaudy hue, 

Remindful of a different day; 

The candytuft and feverfew 

Helped her gray dreams in some dim way: 

]^or was there any rich perfume, 

Scarlet or gold, but all was gray, 

Subdued of fragrance as of bloom, 

That helped her quiet soul to pray. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 229 

The garden seemed to fill a need ; 

'T was like an old acquaintanceship, 

Or love ; — like that she bade " God speed," 

Who raised her fingers to his lip 

And left, returning nevermore 

From yonder narrow, far-off strip 

Of purple sea and saffron shore. 

Whence vanished, years ago, his ship. 



WHEN THE YEARS WERE YOUNG 

The turtle's egg by the shallow pool 

Whitened a spot on the sandy gray; 

And there by the log, where the shade greened 

cool, 
The whippoorwill's nest on the brown moss lay. 

I went by the path that we often went 

When the years were young and our hearts were, 

too; 
And the wind, that was warm with the wildrose 

scent. 
Breathed on my eyes till I thought it you. 

'T was the old, wild path where the horsemint 

grows, 
And the milkweed's blossom makes musk the 

air; 
And I plucked for your memory there a rose, 
As once I had for your nut-brown hair. 

And I came to the bridge that is built of logs. 
Where the creek laughs down like a dimpled 

child ; 
Where we used to hark to the mellow frogs 
When the dusk sat dim in the ferny wild. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 231 

And I stood on the bridge and I heard your feet 
Tremble its floor as I heard them when 
I was a boy, whom you ran to meet, 
Bare of foot and of years just ten. 

The old log-bridge in the bramble lane, 
Where the black-eyed-Susans make bright its 

marge ; 
Where the teasel's tuft is a thorny stain, 
And the wild sunflower rays out its targe. 

Where berries cluster their ripened red, 
And, under the bush, on the creek's low bank. 
The bob-white huddles an egg-round bed, 
The kingfisher flits and the crane stands lank. 

Your small tanned hand again was laid 
In the briar-brown clasp of my freckled own ; 
And down from the bridge we went to wade 
Where the turtle's egg by the water shone. 

And again I heard the wood-dove coo ; 
And the scent of the woodland made me sad; 
For the two reminded my heart of you. 
When you were a girl and I was a lad. 

It is not well for a man to go 
The old lost ways that he went when young, 
When Love walked with him, her eyes aglow, 
A blue sunbonnet beside her swung. 



232 THE POET, THE FOOL] AND THE FAERIES 

It is not well for woman or man 

To come again to the place they knew 

In the years that are gone; where their love 

began, 
The love that died as all things do. 

It was not well for my heart, I know, 
On the old log-bridge in the woodland there : 
Your eyes looked up from the creek below, 
And in every zephyr I felt your hair. 

Your face smiled at me, your beauty yearned 
In every flower, or song I heard: 
!N^o matter — wherever my eyes were turned 
You stood remindful with look and word. 

You laid your hand on my heart : your hand, 
Once light as a wisp and wild with joy; 
And my heart grew heavy, you understand. 
With the dreams that died with the girl and boy. 

It was not well for my heart and me 
On the old log-bridge in the woodland glen; 
For there I met with your memory — 
And the days that are gone come not again. 



THE HILL ROAD 

The old road, the hill road, the road that used 

to go 
Through briar and bloom and gleam and gloom 

among the wooded ways, — 
Oh, would that we might follow it as once we 

did, you know 1 
The old road, the home road, the road of happy 

days. 

The old road, the long road, the road among the 
hills. 

The hills of old enchantments and the hollow- 
lands of dreams. 

Again it calls with memories of days that noth- 
ing stills, 

And down the years, as down a lane, its home- 
light winks and gleams. 

Again we smell its dust, the rain distills into 
perfume ; 

Again the night, with fingertip of firefly-twin- 
kling gold. 

Points us the path to follow home through deeps 
of dewy bloom. 

And on the bough the whippoorwill is calling as 
of old. 



234 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

The old road, tlie lost road, the road where, 

heart and hand, 
Simplicity and innocence of childhood used to 

play, 

Till o'er the hills Ambitions came, loud-riding 

through the land, 
And bade us mount and follow them, forever 

and a day. 



The old road, the hill road, the road we galloped 
down. 

The road we left of sweet content for one of 
moil and toil. 

The road we fain would find again, and those 
two playmates brown. 

Barefooted Happiness and Health, tanned chil- 
dren of the soil. 



Again I hear them in the wind a-calling me to 

come; 
From fern and flower they nod their heads or 

lift a faery face ; 
And in the twilight there they dance unto the 

crickets' thrum. 
While friendly voices say good-night within a 

rose-sweet place. 



The old road, the hill road, the road that you 
and I 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 235 

Are fain to find and take again and once again 

to roam ! — 
The road into the oldtime hills where we at last 

would lie, 
Secure within our mother's arms and safe again 

at home. 



ROSE AND JASMINE 



Roses, in the garden old, 
Glorious with ephemeral gold, 
Blooming by the old stone-wall. 
Did her touch give you your scent ? - 
(Ah, how well now I recall 
Lincoln then was President) — 
As, white-gowned, for mask or ball, 
With her lover here she went. 
From your fragrant breath, almost, 
I could vow I see her ghost 
Rise, as when she stood here sweet 
Mid your blossoms : catch the beat 
Of her happy heart and feet 
As when here they came to meet, — 
Lovers young, who now are cold, 

]!^ow are cold, 
Roses in the garden old. 

II 

Jasmine, blooming overhead. 
Deep-embowering porch and shed, 
Framing-in one windowsill. 
Was it here on you she leant ? — 
(I remember with a thrill 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 237 

Lincoln then was President) — 
And from ber sad eyes and still 
Did you learn that look ? she sent 
Through your blossoms, very far, 
To the southmost seat of war. 
Mid your branches, starry there, 
I can see them now, I swear, 
Filled with weeping and despair, 
As when oft she leaned in prayer 
For her lover, long since dead, 

Long since dead. 
Jasmine blooming overhead. 



THE CLOSE OF DAY 

Come away, for Love is dead, 
And the hope we knew is banished ; 
Gone the halo from his head, 
From his face the glory vanished : 
Come away, for Love is dead. 

Fold the white hands on his breast ; 
Part the bright hair, smooth it slowly; 
Come away, and let him rest 
In the place he long made holy : 
Fold the white hands on his breast. 

Lay no rose upon his heart — 
All our roses too are perished: 
Say no word; but now depart — 
^Nothing 's left us here we cherished : 
Lay no rose upon his heart. 

Kiss no more the locks of gold, 
And the lips so silent sleeping: 
Let no tear fall as of old — 
What availeth kiss or weeping! 
Kiss no more the locks of gold. 

Come away, and hope no more : 
Love is dead and life grown lonely. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 239 

Joy 's departed at the door, 
Memory remainetli only: 
Come away and hope no more. 

Now befalls the end of day ; 
End of all ; yea, we must sever : 
By this Cross beside the way 
Kneel and pray, then part forever: 
Now befalls the end of day. 



FEUDISTS 

Along tlie mountain road she came, 
In dingy gown and heavy shoes; 
Above her broke the redbud's flame, 
And oak and maple flushed with hues; 
And everywhere was boisterous news 
Of Spring who led o'er hills and streams 
The white invasion of her dreams. 

Upon a rock beside the way 

She sat, so still, so dim of tone — 

Of such an unobtrusive gray — 

You 'd thought her portion of the stone, 

Save for her eyes, where fever shone, 

Beneath the bonnet, frayed and torn. 

And pinned together with a thorn. 

Wrapped in a faded shawl she bore 

A child, so tiny and so wan 

One marveled how a child so poor, 

So desolate and small and drawn. 

Could live. — Or had it died at dawn ? — 

So heedless, so regardless she 

Who never even looked to see. 

And all around her was carouse 

Of buds and birds and blooms and bees ; 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 241 

And Heaven, from under azure brows, 
Bent on the world a look of peace : 
But she — she saw not one of these — 
Nothing of Earth's great joy divine, 
Or, if she saw, she gave no sign. 

Her attitude of mind refused 

To be distracted. I^ature glowed : 

Above her head the wild bee cruised : 

Leaves whispered : dogwood on her snowed : 

The very tree above her flowed 

With wild-bird music : and the brook 

Kept calling her to come and look. 

But she — she saw not, neither heard. 
Watching the road in furtive wise. — 
Once only, when it seemed a bird, 
Far-off, called shrilly, in her eyes 
A startled look came — fear, surmise. 
That raised her swift, alert and still, 
Listening . . . for what upon the hill ? — 

A shot: wild hoofs: that rapidly 
ISTeared and tore past her, standing dumb, 
Tense-drawn in waiting misery, 
As if she felt Disaster come 
Galloping, instead of — only some 
Strange, riderless horse, that made her weak 
With dread and mad desire — to shriek. 

Then do^vn the mountain, grim and tall, 
A man came : he, her fear and bliss : 



242 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

A rifle on his arm and all 

Fierce passions in his face. — No kiss 

Was his or greeting : only this — 

He took the child, that wailed : and they 

Went swiftly down the mountain way. 



THE MOUND MEN 



They brought him back from the battlefield 
On a bier of boughs and of spear and shield, 
The foeman's flint in his flesh and bone : 
They brought him back to the thud and drone 
Of the snake-skin drum and the flute of stone, 
And the medicine dance that shrieked and 
reeled. 

II 

Fierce and fain he had led the fight 

From blood-red dawn till death-black night: 

Fain and fierce in the hollow wood 

Where the eagle circled and screamed for food, 

And the bison passed like a rolling flood. 

And the panther leapt like a shaft of light. 

Ill 

Loud in a land of streams and caves. 

Of crags and woods, where they found their 

graves, 
Hate met hate with shriek and shout, 
And arrows blotted the daylight out ; 
Stealth met strength and rage met rout 
And swept to death with a thousand braves. 



244 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 



IV 



Spear of flint and arrow and bow 

And axe of granite gave blow for blow, 

Till there by the stream, where the bison track 

Led down from the hills, the foe fell back, 

And the white salt-lick with blood flowed black 

For love of a chief a spear laid low. 



As the red moon rose like a banner-stone 
They bore him down from the hills alone; 
As the red moon sank like a battle blade 
They bore him into the forest glade 
Where the glare of the fires made red the shade. 
And the Mound Men piped on their flutes of 
bone. 

VI 

With head to the West they brought him home, 
And built him a bed of the forest loam; 
With head to the West they laid him down 
With his axe on his breast, like a great king's 

crown ; 
And five of his men, that were strong and 

brown. 
They chose for his guard in the life to come. 

VII 

Streaked with ochre and brave with beads 
Forth they strode to the drone of reeds ; 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 245 

Round his body they kneeled and stared 
Chanting low while the priestmen bared 
Knives of flint as they whirled, wild-haired; 
Danced, loud-singing the dead man's deeds. 



VIII 

Five of his braves, who chose to fare 
The way with him and its dangers share : 
Five of his braves ! — and the flint knives fell, 
While the death-dance wailed with the medicine 

spell ; 
Five of his braves, who would bear them well 
Side by side with the big chief there. 



IX 

Side by side, with their bows and spears. 
To be his guard through the countless years, 
They laid them down in a stalwart row 
On skins of the bear and the buffalo. 
Beads and feathers and paint aglow 
And rings of keel on their hands and ears. 



For the Land where the Hunt should never cease 
They placed by the chief his pipe of peace 
And knife and arrows. . . . Then based it wide 
And heaped the mound that should hold and 
hide 



246 THE POET, THE FOOL] AND THE FAERIES 

Their chief of chiefs and his warrior pride 
Through the ceaseless roll of the centuries. 

Note : — In the year 1897, fnear Richmond, Ky., a 
burial mound was opened which contained the skeletons 
of six men of the Stone Age. The principal one was lying 
with head to the West. In the femur of his left leg, 
driven entirely through the bone, was a large flint spear- 
head. . . . About the bodies were found many instru- 
ments of stone and clay. 



THE SPANISH MAIN 

It 's, Ho ! for a sail and a good stiff breeze, 
And a trail of foam, with the wind abaft ! 
When we turn our keel to the Caribbees, 
And sweep the ocean of every craft, 
Each hulk and hull that the Fiend hath sold, 
With her Spanish hold crammed full of gold, — 

Heave ho ! my bullies ! 
To crowd her sail till she catch our hail, 
A ten-pound shot through her quarter-rail — 
Heave ho ! my bullies ! and a heave ! 

Tattooed and tanned, the Devil's own crew, 

Dutch and Lascar, and French and Greek, 

Of every [N^ation and every hue, 

A cutlass scar on the brow or cheek, 

And hair in queues of the murder-thumb, — 

Made mad with rum for the work to come, — 

Heave ho ! my bullies ! 
To stake with a curse our lives for a purse. 
And steer for Hell with a roaring verse, — 
Heave ho ! my bullies ! and a heave ! 

The sun goes down like a blot of blood 

As our boats swarm up to her towering hull. 

And her galleon decks with the battle thud, — 



248 THE POET, THE FOOL, AND THE FAERIES 

Yo ho ! for the banner of bones and skull ! 
And the buccaneer crew that will have its fill : — 
And it 's " Cut and kill ! " till the ship is still, — 

Heave ho ! my bullies ! 

Till pistol and dirk have done their pirate work, 

And the last man yields as the night falls 

murk, — 

Heave ho ! my bullies ! and a heave ! 

The moon comes up like a broad doubloon 

As the last tar totters along the plank : 

The women — ho ! ho ! — by the light of the 

moon 
We dice for them while their eyes stare blank, 
And they pray to God who heeds them not. 
While we share each lot o' the loot we got, — 

Heave ho ! my bullies ! 
Then a torch to the hull as away we pull. 
And a prayer that the Devil be bountiful, — 
Heave ho ! my bullies ! and a heave ! 



THE BURDEN OF THE BURIED 
DEAD 

He heard a footstep on the road 
Before the black cock woke and crew: 
It was the step of one he knew, 
Of one who bore a weary load, 
When the lonely night was waning. 

He dared not stop or turn his head. 
He knew what followed through the night. 
He knew the burden was not light, 
The burden of the buried dead, 

When the dreary dawn was gaining. 

He knew that his dead self would pass, 
Bowed earthward by that thing of fear: 
He heard its footstep very near, 
Behind him in the withered grass — 
Where the wind kept on complaining. 

But when the black cock crew for dawn 
His soul took heart to turn and see — 
Empty the road and shadowy 
Stretched far away with naught thereon — 
And the wild, gray dawn broke raining. 



REFLECTIONS 

Has n't she a roguish eye ? — 
Oh, the mischief in it ! — 
Who 'd not love to live or die 
In it every minute ? 

Has n't she a laughing lip ? 
Oh, the rose that wreathes there ! — 
Who 'd not be the sighs that slip. 
Or the breath that breatlies there ? 

Has n't she a dainty ear ? — 
Oh, the deamess of it ! — 
Who 'd not have it very near, 
Like the flower above it? 

Has n't she a darling foot ? — 
Oh, the way she trips it ! — 
Who 'd not love to be the boot 
That this moment clips it ? 

Has n't she a lissome waist ? — 
Oh, the grace that molds it ! — 
Who 'd not be the belt that 's placed 
Round it and that holds it ? 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 251 

Oft and oft she smiles at me, 
Smiles as she draws nearer. — 
How she loves me ! — But, you see, 
I am just her mirror. 



"OH, WHEN I HEARD" 

Oh, when I heard that you were dead, 
Sweet girl, to whom I gave my youth, 
Again my heart shook with the tread 
Of love more strong than truth. 

And if it had been otherwise — 
Had we not met to part again, 
Th' appealing memory of your eyes 
Had not seared soul and brain. 

But from the past they gaze at me, 
And break my heart with love denied. 
O God, blot out their memory! 
And love that lied! 



ON THE DEATH OF T. B. A. 

The cavalier cry of Lovelace and Carew 
And Herrick's lyric call together grew. 
And here in Aldrich, — lark and nightingale, — ■ 
Made sweet with song Art's new-world inter- 
vale. 



MODERN POETRY 

Reluctant praise and meagre kindness, 
In spite of all thy beauty, see, 

O Poetry, 
Tk' ignoble World now gives to thee: 
While Fame, with strange, pretended blindness, 
Through whom thou hadst authority 
Through many a golden century. 
Fares on her way with other company. 



THE SECRET ROOM 

Theee is a room the soul has set apart. 

Dark in the House of Dreams and Melody; 

A secret room, no eye may ever see. 

Hung with the perished passions of the heart: 

There once I entered with a Dream of Art, 

And sat me down with Love and Memory 

Before a harp's decaying ebony. 

From whose dim strings, I felt, old ghosts might 

start. 
And suddenly, through some superior will, 
My hand went forth and, groping blindly, swept 
One chord of chords, hollow with loss and fear ; 
And all the darkness shuddered and was still : 
Then in the silence something near me crept, 
And on my hands dropped tear on terrible tear. 



THE WATCHER ON THE TOWER 

I 
The Voice of a Man 
What of the Night, O Watcher ? 

The Voice of a Woman 

Yea, what of it ? 

The Watcher 
A star has risen ; and a wind blows strong. 

Voice of the Man 
The Night is dark. 

The Watcher 

But God is there above it. 

Voice of the Woman 
The Night is dark ; the Night is dark and long. 

II 

Voice of the Man 
What of the Night, O Watcher ? 



CHARACTER, AND EPISODE 255 

Voice of the Woman 

Night of sorrow ! 

The Watcher 
Out of the East there comes a sound, like song. 

Voice of the Man 
The Night is dark. 

The Watcher 
Have courage ! There 's To-morrow. 

Voice of the Woman 
The Night is dark ; the Night is dark and long. 

m 

Voice of the Man 
What of the Night, O Watcher ? 

Voice of the Woman 

Is it other ? 

The Watcher 
I see a gleam; a thorn of light; a thong. 

Voice of the Man 
The Night is dark. 



256 the poet, the fool, and the faeries 

The Watcheb 
The Morning conies, my Brother. 

Voice of the Woman 
The Night is dark ; the Night is dark and long. 

IV 

Voice of the Man 
What now, what now, O Watcher ! 

The Watcher 

Red as slaughter 
The Darkness dies. The Light comes swift and 
strong. 

Voice of the Man 

The Night was long. — What sayest thou, my 
Daughter ? 

Voice of the Woman 

The Night was dark; the Night was dark and 
lonsr. 



PANDORA 

That 's my Pandora : look you, good as gold ; 

'No evil in her. Yet, as once of old, 

Zeus formed her namesake, she, in body and 

soul. 
Was made for man's allurement. He who stole 
Fire from high Heaven, and so brought on Earth 
A scourge of evils, was of not more worth 
Than she, the woman, of whom we are told. 
Now my Pandora 's of the selfsame mold : 
A sweet disturbance, filling every hour 
With personality, that 's kin to power ; 
But still concealing her immortal dower 
Of love, like her, whom Epimetheus 
Gave heart and soul to. — But I like her thus : 
A woman through and through, with all the fuss 
And fervor and nice curiosity 
In all that we name life, whate'er it be, 
Though at the last it may end evilly. 
But could it end so ? when, within her mind, 
Like Hope shut in the casket, you will find, 
Mid doubts, she keeps her faith in humankind. 
ISTow looking at her there you 'd never know 
The fire of the faith which burns below — 
That 's my Pandora ! — her chaste bosom's 

snow. 



ATTAINMENT 

On the Heights of Great Endeavor, - 
Where Attaimnent looms forever, — 
Toiling upward, ceasing never, 
Climb the fateful Centuries: 
Up the difficult, dark places, 
Joj and anguish in their faces, 
On they strive, the living races. 
And the dead, that no one sees. 

Shape bj shape, with brow uplifted, 
One by one, where night is rifted, 
Pass the victors, many gifted. 
Where the heaven opens wide : 
While below them, fallen or seated, 
Mummy-like, or shadow-sheeted. 
Stretch the lines of the defeated, — 
Scattered on the mountainside. 

And each victor, passing wanly. 
Gazes on that Presence lonely, 
With unmoving eyes where only 
Grow the dreams for which men die: 
Grow the dreams, the far, ethereal, 
That on earth assume material 
Attributes, and, vast, imperial. 
Pear their battlements on high. 



CHARACTER AND EPISODE 259 

Kingdoms, marble-templed, towered, 
Where the Arts, the many-dowered, — 
That for centuries have flowered. 
Trampled under War's wild heel, — 
Lift immortal heads and golden. 
Blossoms of the times called olden, 
Soul-alluring, earth-withholden, 
Universal in appeal. 

As they enter, — high and lowly, — 
On the hush these words fall slowly : — 
" Ye who kept your purpose holy, 
I^ever dreamed your cause was vain. 
Look ! — Behold, through time abating, 
How the long, sad days of waiting, 
Striving, starving, hoping, hating. 
Helped your spirit to attain. 

'' For to all who dream, aspire, 
Marry effort to desire. 
On the cosmic heights, in fire 
Beaconing, my form appears : — 
I am marvel, I am morning! 
Beauty in man's heart and warning ! — 
On my face none looks with scorning, 
And no soul attains who fears." 



^OV 8 1912 



